Chapter 9
Er'dox
The survivor's name was Alex Bail, and he wouldn't stop talking, even three days later.
Not that I blamed him. Many days of isolation would make anyone desperate for conversation.
But I'd been monitoring his debriefing with Zorn for three hours now, and Bail had detailed every single day of his survival with the kind of obsessive thoroughness that suggested he'd been cataloging it all just to stay sane.
"Day ninety-seven, I realized the water reclamation system was failing faster than projected," Bail was saying, his voice still hoarse despite medical intervention.
"Had to improvise a backup using salvaged condenser coils and ice-rock melting.
Efficiency was terrible, maybe thirty percent of theoretical, but it kept me from dying of dehydration. "
Zorn made notes on his medical datapad, his forest-green skin reflecting the bay's lighting. "Your resourcefulness is impressive. The medical scans show significant malnutrition, but you maintained cognitive function throughout. That suggests disciplined resource management."
"Suggests I was too stubborn to die quietly." Bail's laugh turned into a cough. "Sorry. Lungs are still adjusting to the proper atmosphere."
I watched through the observation window, analyzing Bail's improvised engineering solutions as he described them. Survival engineering at its most desperate, no elegance, no efficiency, just raw determination to make broken systems function one more day. Dana would appreciate the methodology.
Dana, who'd insisted we search for him. Dana, who'd decoded his signal when my entire department missed it. Dana, who'd been right about everything and was currently in Captain Tor'van's office presenting her findings like she'd been doing field reports her entire career instead of exactly once.
Krev appeared at my shoulder, because of course he did. My second-in-command had a supernatural ability to materialize whenever I was trying to process complicated thoughts in peace.
"Bail's stable," he observed. "Medical estimates of full recovery in two weeks. That's exceptional given his condition when we found him."
"Zorn's good at his job."
"So are you. And so is Dana, apparently." Krev's tone was carefully neutral. "Tor'van's already approved her field status. She's cleared for future reconnaissance missions."
I turned to face him. "That was fast."
"She found a survivor everyone else had written off as a salvage signal.
She decoded communication methods that shouldn't have been possible.
And she did it while maintaining professional composure despite obvious terror.
" Krev's metallic green skin caught the light.
"Tor'van recognizes capability when he sees it.
So does everyone else aboard Mothership by now. "
Word traveled fast on a city-sized vessel. By the time we'd docked, the entire crew had heard about the human engineer who'd found one of her own people through nothing but determination and creative analysis.
Dana was going to hate the attention.
"She'll need additional training," I said. "Field protocols, tactical awareness, emergency procedures. She can't keep getting lucky."
"That wasn't luck, Er'dox. That was skill and instinct working together." Krev studied me with uncomfortable intensity. "You sound like you're planning to personally oversee her training."
"She's in my department. Her development is my responsibility."
"Right. Responsibility. That's definitely what I'm seeing in how you watch her work."
I didn't dignify that with a response. Instead, I returned my attention to Bail's debriefing, where he'd moved on to describing his attempts at reverse-engineering Zandovian propulsion theory from salvaged components.
"The dark matter containment principles were fascinating," Bail was saying. "I couldn't replicate them, didn't have the materials or equipment, but I could see the underlying mathematics. Your civilization's understanding of exotic energy sources is centuries ahead of human development."
"And yet you survived using human engineering philosophy," Zorn noted. "Different approach, different strengths."
"Different desperation, mostly." Bail shifted on the medical bed, wincing slightly. "Is Dana here? I'd like to thank her. For not giving up on the signal."
"She's debriefing with Captain Tor'van. But I'm certain she'll visit once she's finished."
I pulled up my communicator, sent a message to Dana's interface: Bail is asking for you. Medical bay when you're done with Tor'van.
Her response came within seconds: On my way. How is he?
Stable. Talkative. Alive because you insisted we keep looking.
Three dots appeared, disappeared, appeared again. Finally: Team effort. But thank you for trusting me.
Always trust good engineering instincts, I sent back, then immediately questioned why I was having personal conversations through official channels when I should be monitoring system reports.
Krev was still watching me with that knowing expression.
"Not a word," I warned.
"Wouldn't dream of it, Chief."
Dana arrived twenty minutes later, still wearing her field gear and looking like she'd rather be anywhere else.
The attention from passing crew members was obvious with stares, whispers, the kind of recognition that came from doing something noteworthy.
She navigated it with visible discomfort, shoulders tight, moving quickly.
I intercepted her before she could reach Medical. "How was Tor'van?"
"Thorough. He wanted every detail three times, cross-referenced against Vaxon's tactical report and your engineering analysis.
" She rubbed her face, exhaustion showing through professional composure.
"But he approved the mission parameters and cleared me for future field work.
Which is either good news or terrible news, depending on whether I survive the next mission. "
"You'll survive. I'll make certain of that."
Gratitude mixed with that uncertainty she still carried despite two weeks of exceptional performance flickered over her face. "You don't have to protect me."
"I'm not protecting you. I'm ensuring my department doesn't lose a valuable engineer to preventable field casualties." The lie came smoothly, professionally appropriate. "Now go see Bail. He's been asking for you."
She nodded and disappeared into Medical, leaving me standing in the corridor trying to convince myself that keeping Dana alive was purely a professional concern.
I was getting worse at that particular self-deception.
Through Medical's observation window, I watched their reunion, two humans who'd survived impossible disasters, finding each other across light-years and cosmic accidents.
Bail's face when he saw Dana was pure relief, like her presence confirmed he wasn't hallucinating rescue.
Dana's expression was more complex, joy at finding another survivor, grief for the many days he'd spent alone, determination that suggested she was already calculating how to help him integrate.
Always protecting. Always responsible. Always carrying more weight than one person should bear.
"They're going to want a memorial," Zorn said quietly, appearing beside me with characteristic silence. "The humans. For the Liberty crew who didn't survive. Bail mentioned it during debriefing, he needs to honor the dead before he can fully embrace living."
"Cultural practice?"
"Human practice. They process grief through ritual and remembrance. I've been researching their psychological needs. They're remarkably similar to Zandovian approaches, actually communal mourning, structured ceremonies, physical monuments to loss."
I filed that information away. "How long before Bail is mobile?"
"Three days, maybe four. His physical recovery is progressing well. Emotional recovery will take longer." Zorn's warm golden-brown eyes tracked Dana through the window. "She's strong. Stronger than she realizes. But even the strong need support."
"What are you implying?"
"That she trusts you. That your opinion matters to her in ways that go beyond professional hierarchy. That you could help her process what she's carrying if you chose to." Zorn's expression was unreadable. "Or you could maintain appropriate boundaries and watch her struggle alone. Your choice."
"I'm her supervisor. Appropriate boundaries are—"
"Necessary, yes. But there's appropriate and there's distance. You're trending toward distance, Er'dox. Just something to consider."
He left before I responded, which was probably intentional. Zorn had a habit of delivering observations that required processing without offering solutions.
Inside Medical, Dana was explaining Mothership's structure to Bail, the crew complement, the rescue operations, and the sixteen other human survivors he'd soon meet.
Her hands moved as she talked, animated by enthusiasm and exhaustion in equal measure.
Bail listened with the intensity of someone drinking in information after years of isolation.
They were speaking in English, that melodic human language that the VR pods hadn't fully prepared me for. I couldn't understand the words, but I recognized the rhythm of connection being rebuilt, community being formed, hope being shared.
My communicator chimed. Message from Captain Tor'van: Need you on the bridge. Power distribution anomaly in sector seven. Possibly related to the sabotage Dana detected.
I pulled myself away from the observation window and headed for the bridge, compartmentalizing Dana's presence in my thoughts into the appropriate professional category where it belonged.
Except it didn't quite fit there anymore, which was becoming a problem I'd need to address eventually.
Just not today.
Multiple displays showing power variance patterns, tactical overlays highlighting affected systems, and Tor'van standing at the center with his cybernetic eye glowing brighter than usual, never a good sign. All the chaos of something gone wrong.