Chapter 9 #4
He didn't. His control shattered, and the careful precision gave way to something raw and desperate. The platform creaked under us—probably not designed for this kind of activity—and I laughed breathlessly between gasps, delighted by evidence that we were breaking furniture.
"What's funny?" he panted.
"Structural integrity failure. You'll have to redesign your bed."
"Worth it." He adjusted his angle, hit something inside me that made me cry out. "Absolutely worth it."
The second orgasm built slower than the first, a gradual climb instead of sudden impact. He seemed to sense it, maintained his rhythm, added pressure exactly where I needed it. When I came apart, he followed immediately after, my name a broken sound against my neck.
We collapsed together, tangled and breathing hard. His weight was substantial, but he rolled us so I was draped across his chest instead of crushed beneath him.
"Acceptable compatibility?" I asked when I could speak.
His laugh rumbled through his chest. "That's significant understatement."
"We'll need more research to confirm the results."
"Multiple trials. Control various parameters. Ensure reproducibility."
I lifted my head to look at him. "Are we really discussing this like a scientific experiment?"
"We're both engineers. It's how we process intense experiences." His hand traced lazy patterns on my back. "Though I should note that my research methodology may have been compromised by emotional investment in the outcome."
"Mine too." I pressed a kiss to his chest, right over where his heart beat steady and strong. "I love you."
"I love you." His arms tightened around me. "And I'm coming with you tomorrow. Whatever we find out there, we face it together."
"We should talk about what this means. Establish parameters. Discuss expectations for our professional relationship going forward."
"Or," I said, "we could acknowledge that we're both adults who are capable of maintaining professional boundaries while also being in a relationship. And then we could focus on not dying during this incredibly dangerous rescue mission."
"That's remarkably pragmatic."
"I'm a very pragmatic person." I smoothed his rumpled shirt, trying to calm my racing heart. "Also, I'm in love with you too. Have been for weeks. Possibly longer. My timeline estimation is also imprecise."
His markings flared brilliant blue. "You—"
"Yes. Obviously. Did you think I spent sixteen-hour days with you just because I'm dedicated to spatial planning?"
"You're very dedicated to spatial planning."
"I'm very dedicated to you." I grabbed his hand, laced my fingers through his.
Human-small and Zandovian-large, fitting together despite every logical reason they shouldn't.
"Which is why we're both going to survive this mission.
Because I just got you to admit you love me, and I'll be damned if I'm going to die before we figure out what that means. "
"Statistically speaking—"
I kissed him again to shut him up. Brief. Hard. Determined.
"No statistics," I said against his lips.
"No probabilities. No calculated risk assessments.
We're going. We're finding whoever sent that signal.
We're bringing them home. And then we're coming back here and having a very long conversation about whether size difference matters when you're in love with someone. "
"It doesn't," Zor'go said immediately. "Size difference is irrelevant to emotional compatibility. Though there are practical considerations for—"
"Later." I pulled back, tried to look stern despite my probably ridiculous expression. "Mission first. Romance calculations later."
"Agreed."
We stood there for a moment, just holding hands and breathing. Three hours until we left. Three hours to prepare for a mission that might be a trap. That might get us killed. That might save lives or end them.
Three hours to figure out how to say goodbye to this fragile new thing between us, just in case we didn't come back.
"I need to change," I said finally. "Get my gear. Check in with Bea so she doesn't worry."
"I need to review the debris field navigation charts and calculate optimal approach vectors." Zor'go squeezed my hand. "Meet at the shuttle bay in two hours forty-five minutes?"
"Yes." I started to leave, then turned back. "Zor'go? Don't die."
"I'll do my best. You don't die either."
"Deal."
I left his quarters and headed for mine.
The corridors were busy with shift change, Mothership's organized chaos of fifty thousand beings going about their lives.
I passed Kr'yx from Engineering, nodded to a group of maintenance workers I didn't recognize, avoided a food cart that smelled amazing and made my empty stomach clench.
Normal. Everything was so goddamn normal.
And I was about to leave it all behind to chase a signal that might be nothing. That might be everything.
Bea was in our quarters when I arrived, reviewing medical files on her datapad. She looked up as I entered, and her expression shifted immediately from professional to concerned.
"Dana messaged me," she said. "You're going on the rescue mission."
"Yes."
"That's dangerous."
"Yes."
"You could die."
"I'm aware."
Bea set down her datapad, studied me with those calm gray eyes that saw way too much. "You're going anyway."
It wasn't a question.
"Those are my people out there, Bea. Liberty crew. Command-track officers. People I might have worked with, eaten lunch with, shared transport with during the voyage. I can't just ignore—"
"I know." She stood, crossed to where I stood frozen by the door. "I'm not trying to talk you out of it. I'm trying to make sure you come back."
She pulled me into a hug. Not fierce like Dana's. Gentle. The way she did everything, with precise care and absolute competence.
"I'll come back," I promised into her shoulder. "Zor'go's coming too. He'll keep me safe."
"Zor'go." Something shifted in her tone. "Dana mentioned you two have been close."
"We're in love." The words felt strange and wonderful. "Just figured that out about an hour ago. Terrible timing."
"Perfect timing, actually. Nothing motivates survival like new love." Bea pulled back, smiled slightly. "Make sure you both come back. I'd like to meet him properly. The romantic version, not just the brilliant architect version."
"There's a difference?"
"Oh yes. Dana says Er'dox becomes substantially more ridiculous when he's in love. I'm curious if Zor'go follows the same pattern."
Despite everything, the fear, the mission, the signal from people who might already be dead, I laughed. "He uses probability calculations to express emotion. It's terrifying and adorable."
"That sounds very Zor'go." Bea squeezed my shoulders. "Go get ready. And Jalina? Trust your instincts. You're good at reading people. If something feels wrong out there, listen to that feeling."
"I will."
I changed quickly into practical clothes, sturdy boots, the survival pack we'd all been issued when we first arrived on Mothership. Added my notebook, because even in the middle of a rescue mission I might need to sketch something. Checked my data pad for messages.
One from Dana: Don't be a hero. Be smart.
One from Elena: Kick some ass. Bring everyone home.
Nothing from Kim. She was still in detention. Still working through her own complicated relationship with loyalty and survival and obligation.
I wondered if she'd sent the signal. If this was another trap. Another betrayal.
Then I pushed the thought away. Kim was brilliant and broken, but she wouldn't do that. Wouldn't use our hope against us.
Probably.
The shuttle bay was chaotic when I arrived. Vaxon stood at the center, coordinating the security team with crisp efficiency. Six Zandovian warriors in full tactical gear with armor, weapons, scanning equipment. Everything needed for combat operations.
We weren't going on a rescue mission.
We were going to war.
Zor'go appeared beside me, his own gear minimal—data pad, scanning equipment, the portable calculation device he took everywhere. He looked calm. Professional. Like this was just another mission.
Then I saw his markings. Flickering rapid-fire beneath his collar, betraying the tension he hid everywhere else.
"Ready?" he asked quietly.
"No. You?"
"Not remotely." He touched my hand briefly. Just a brush of fingers. "But we're going anyway."
Vaxon called us over. "Listen carefully. This is a stealth operation. We go in quietly, assess the situation, and extract survivors if possible. If we encounter hostiles, we fight our way clear. If the signal is a trap, we abort immediately. Everyone clear?"
Murmurs of agreement from the team.
"Architect Chauncy." Vaxon focused on me with those intense purple eyes. "You're here to authenticate survivors and provide cultural context. Stay close to me at all times. If shooting starts, you get behind cover and let the security team handle it. Understood?"
"Understood."
"Zor'go. Navigation is yours. Get us in and out without triggering territorial sensors."
"Already calculated seventeen different approach vectors with varying probability of detection." Zor'go pulled up a holographic display. "Optimal route uses the debris field for cover, and requires precise maneuvering through unstable spatial anomalies."
"Can you do it?"
"Ninety-two percent confidence."
"That's not one hundred percent."
"Nothing is one hundred percent. But ninety-two is acceptable given the variables."
Vaxon studied the calculations, then nodded. "Good enough. Everyone board. We launch in five minutes."
The shuttle was smaller than I expected. Sleek. Fast. Built for quick insertions and rapid extractions. I strapped into a seat near the back, Zor'go taking the navigation console at the front.
The security team moved with practiced efficiency, checking weapons and gear with casual competence. These were warriors. Professionals who'd done this hundreds of times.
I was an architect with a notebook and too much hope.
The shuttle doors sealed with a hiss. Engines hummed to life. Through the viewport, I watched the shuttle bay's massive doors begin to open, revealing the infinite dark beyond.
We were really doing this.
Leaving safety. Leaving home. Chasing a signal that might be salvation or damnation.
"Mothership Control, this is Rescue Six requesting departure clearance," Vaxon said into the comm.
"Rescue Six, you are clear for departure. Godspeed." Captain Tor'van's voice. Tight with tension. "Bring them home."
"Copy that, Control. Rescue Six departing."
The shuttle lifted. Glided forward. Passed through the bay doors into open space.
And Mothership fell away behind us, bright and massive and impossibly distant, while we flew toward the unknown on nothing but faith and desperation and a signal that whispered: We're still here.
Please.
Don't leave us behind.