Chapter 9 #2
"The strategic calculus." I heard Dana's sharp intake of breath behind me. Saw Zor'go's markings flicker in my peripheral vision. "These are people. My people. Our people. And you're calculating whether they're worth the risk?"
"I'm calculating whether I can save them without dooming everyone else aboard this vessel. That's my responsibility as captain."
I wanted to scream. Wanted to throw something. Wanted to demand he do his damn job and rescue the beings who were counting on us. But Captain Tor'van wasn't being cruel. He wasn't being callous. He was being careful.
And I hated that I understood why.
"So what happens now?" My voice came out flat. Empty. "We just ignore the signal? Leave them out there?"
"We investigate." Captain Tor'van pulled up tactical projections on the main display.
"Carefully. With full awareness that this could be a trap, a mistake, or a genuine rescue situation.
We'll send a small team on a stealth-configured shuttle.
Minimal profile, maximum maneuverability.
If the signal is authentic and rescue is possible, we'll extract the survivors.
If it's a trap, we'll have enough firepower to fight our way clear. "
"I'm going." I said it before he finished. Before I could think about what I was volunteering for. "I know the Liberty protocols. I know how our people think. You need someone who can authenticate the survivors quickly."
"You're an architect. Not a security officer."
"I'm a Liberty officer who held command-track clearance.
I can verify credentials better than anyone else aboard.
" I met his gaze, and refused to look away.
"And if those people have been floating in space for six months, they're going to be traumatized.
Terrified. They'll need to see a human face.
Someone who understands what they've been through. "
Captain Tor'van studied me for a long moment. His cybernetic eye whirred softly as it analyzed, reading my expression, my body language, my heart rate and pupil dilation and whatever else that mechanical horror could detect.
Finally, he nodded. "Approved. But you follow Vaxon's orders. He leads the security team, and if he says we abort, we abort. No arguments. Understood?"
"Understood."
"I'm going too." Zor'go's voice cut across the bridge. He'd been so quiet I'd almost forgotten he was there. "The sector contains significant debris fields and spatial anomalies. You'll need precise navigation calculations to avoid detection."
"You're Head of Operations," Captain Tor'van said. "We can't risk—"
"My spatial analysis skills are essential for this mission. You know it, and I know it. I'm the logical choice." Something in Zor'go's tone dared the captain to argue. "Unless you'd prefer to send someone less qualified and risk the entire team?"
The two Zandovians stared at each other. Some silent communication passed between them, captain to subordinate, superior to officer, maybe friend to friend. I couldn't read the nuances. Couldn't understand what wasn't being said.
"Fine," Captain Tor'van said finally. "But the same rules apply. Vaxon commands. No arguments."
"Agreed."
"Prep time is three hours. Meet at shuttle bay seven. Dismissed."
The bridge crew returned to their work. Dana grabbed my arm as I turned to leave.
"Are you sure about this?" Her green eyes were intense, worried. "Contested space. Unknown hostiles. A signal that might be—"
"I have to go." I pulled free gently. "You know I do."
"I know." She glanced at Er'dox, something passing between them that I envied and resented in equal measure. "Just be careful. Come back in one piece. Because if something happens to you out there, I'll have to live with the fact that I couldn't stop you."
"Dana—"
"I mean it. You're not just going for them.
You're running toward something because you feel guilty for being safe.
For being happy. For building a life here when other people are suffering.
" She squeezed my shoulder hard enough to hurt.
"But getting yourself killed won't save anyone. So promise me you'll be smart."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to insist this wasn't about guilt or obligation or survivor's complex manifesting as reckless heroism.
But Dana knew me too well.
"I promise," I said. "I'll be smart."
"Liar."
She hugged me then, fierce and quick and terrified. Then she let go and walked away with Er'dox, leaving me standing alone on the bridge.
Not quite alone.
Zor'go waited by the exit. His expression was unreadable, his markings steady except for tiny flickers near his temples that I'd learned meant he was processing something complex. Something emotional.
"Your quarters or mine?" he asked quietly. "We need to talk before the mission."
"Yours." Mine were still shared with Bea and Elena. Not exactly private. "But Zor'go, I don't want to fight about—"
"We're not going to fight." He started walking, and I followed.
"We're going to have an honest conversation about why you're risking your life for a signal that might be a trap.
And I'm going to tell you why I'm coming with you despite believing this is strategically unsound and emotionally reckless. "
"You think I'm being reckless?"
"I think you're being human. Which is both your greatest strength and your most terrifying vulnerability."
His quarters were bigger than mine, perks of being Head of Operations, but still maintained that essential Zor'go aesthetic: precisely organized chaos.
Holographic models floated in designated zones.
Paper sketches, my sketches, I realized with a jolt, were filed in protective sleeves on his desk.
His personal effects were minimal: the crystalline calculating device, a small sculpture that might have been art or mathematics or both, and a single photograph of what I assumed was his family.
He gestured to the seating area, a low couch designed for Zandovian proportions that made me feel tiny. I perched on the edge, suddenly aware of how small his space made me feel. How vulnerable.
Zor'go didn't sit. He paced. His long strides ate up the floor space as his markings flickered in complex patterns.
"When we met," he said finally, "you showed me something I couldn't see. You made me understand that perfect efficiency isn't the same as good design. Those beings need more than optimal space utilization. They need home."
I didn't interrupt. Just watched him pace, watched his mind work through whatever he was trying to articulate.
"I've been alone for a long time," he continued.
"Married to my work. Content in my isolation.
Then you arrived with your sketches and your impossible optimism and your ability to see beauty in spatial relationships I'd reduced to pure mathematics.
" He stopped, turned to face me. "You showed me what I was missing. What I'd been missing for years."
My heart hammered against my ribs. "Zor'go—"
"Let me finish." His ice-blue eyes held mine.
"I don't know when it happened. When professional respect became something else.
When I started looking forward to our morning meetings not just for work but for the chance to watch you think.
To see you light up when you solve a design problem.
To hear you laugh at my terrible jokes about load-bearing calculations. "
"They're not terrible jokes," I said weakly. "They're just very specific humor."
"They're objectively terrible. You're kind enough to pretend otherwise.
" He moved closer, knelt so we were eye level.
His size still dwarfed me, but the gesture put us on equal ground.
"I'm in love with you. Have been for weeks.
Possibly longer. My timeline estimation for emotional attachment is imprecise. "
The words hit hard. I'd known, of course I'd known. The way he looked at me. The way his markings flickered when I entered a room. The careful distance he maintained, the professional boundaries he enforced, the way he pulled back every time we got too close.
He'd been protecting himself. And me.
"I know," I whispered. "I figured it out. I just didn't know if you'd ever admit it."
"I wasn't going to. Seemed inadvisable to complicate our working relationship with emotional entanglement.
" His markings flickered rapidly, the pattern I'd learned meant distress.
"But then you received that signal. And you immediately volunteered for a dangerous mission into contested space.
And I realized that keeping my feelings private wouldn't protect either of us.
It would just mean I'd regret my cowardice if something happened to you. "
"So you're coming with me because you love me?"
"I'm coming with you because you're right.
Those are your people out there. And if this matters to you, it matters to me.
" He reached out slowly, giving me time to pull back.
When I didn't, his large hand cupped my cheek with surprising gentleness.
"But I'm also coming because I'm terrified of losing you.
And at least if I'm there, I can try to keep you safe. "
I leaned into his touch. His palm was warm, his skin textured with those subtle ridge patterns that marked Zandovian physiology. "You can't keep me safe. Not really. This is dangerous, and we both know it."
"I can try. It's probably futile. Statistically improbable. But I'm going to try anyway."
"That's the least romantic declaration of protection I've ever heard."