The Peninsula

The Fiction and Poetry Archive of Liana Mir and scribblemyname

Long Distance Family


Zana ran Ijeve’s training facility, almost never leaving it, and had since she was a teenage girl, well trained but saddled with a little brother she wouldn’t leave. Her little brother wasn’t little anymore, but a warship who only came home on leave.

But how the messages flew between them!

She knew his triumphs and struggles before the battle reports rolled in, and every infuriating thing she didn’t need to know about his pilot. He knew about her frustrations with each new batch of trainees and which ones she had high hopes for. But they never said, I miss you.

Don’t Want to Know


Cor wasn’t a virgin when he was integrated, (more…)

Dancing through Riftspace


When most people first learn about integrates and the need for a entire spaceship computer to be able to calculate a safe trajectory through riftspace, they think of numbers and advanced math and a human enabled to think like a machine.

Cor doesn’t bother to correct them, but it’s not like that at all.

It doesn’t feel like numbers or cold calculations. It feels like diving and spinning and swimming through space, knowing with instinct and reflex how to follow the paths that match his affinity and capability. He can do anything, go anywhere, dancing in the headiness of space.

Let It Go


Cor knew it wasn’t a lack of trust that made Rhezere shy away from displaying any kind of vulnerability with his own integrate. There were enough issues bubbling between their minds that the filter couldn’t hide for Cor to know it wasn’t even personal. But it grated.

“You okay?” No matter how neutral and offhand the delivery…

“Aww, Cor, you were worried about me!” Rhezere always managed to brush it off with brilliant smiles, a light tone, deliberately changing the subject to something annoying. Anything to avoid letting Cor acknowledge there was vulnerability.

Never talked about the scars they both knew weren’t from accidents. Never talked about the people Rhezere wouldn’t admit to caring about. Never talked about the fact that Cor preferring to sleep in Rhezere’s room wasn’t only because they were synced.

Cor sighed in disgust and let it go.

Empty Sheets


Rhezere complains every single time Bhazaf takes major damage that he doesn’t act like a normal integrate and sleep in the cradle, where he can heal properly and the ship can finally shut down his extensive sensors.

It minimizes pain. It’s smart. Bhazaf never does it.

For once he has.

Rhezere remembers all the usual complaints—at having to share his bed, having to throw an arm across Bhazaf’s chest to remind him he has a human body and it’s not in critical condition.

Right now, the bed is achingly empty.

He sighs and goes to sleep by the cradle.