Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
ZORN
Er'dox's expression was unreadable across the table, which meant he was thinking something I wouldn't like.
I'd known the Chief Engineer long enough to recognize his tells. The way he set down his eating utensil with deliberate precision. The slight tightening around his amber eyes. The particular quality of silence that preceded uncomfortable observations.
We were in the officers' dining area, a utilitarian space that served function over comfort.
Metal surfaces, efficient lighting, seats designed for Zandovian proportions.
The weekly meal rotation had brought us together tonight, with Er'dox, Zor'go, Vaxon and me.
Four males from different departments who'd somehow formed something resembling friendship over the past few years.
Zor'go was gesturing animatedly, his ice-blue eyes bright with enthusiasm as he described the expansion project's progress.
His hands moved in the air, sketching invisible architectural forms. "—and Jalina's courtyard concept solved the traffic flow problem I'd been wrestling with for weeks.
She thinks in curves where I think in angles.
It's—" He paused, searching for the word. "—complementary."
The way he said it carried weight. The way beings spoke when they'd found something unexpected and precious.
Vaxon grunted, his typical contribution to conversations that didn't involve security protocols or tactical assessments. But even he looked more relaxed than usual, his charcoal-black skin reflecting the overhead lights, electric-blue tactical markings dim in non-combat mode.
"Dana's been working on the communication buoy," Er'dox said, his voice carrying that particular warmth he reserved for talking about his mate.
"She's convinced she can adapt human transmission protocols to work with Zandovian systems. If she's right, we might be able to send signals back to the Milky Way. "
"Ambitious," I observed, taking a careful bite of the protein synthesis they called dinner. It was nutritionally complete. It tasted like nothing in particular. I ate it anyway because bodies required fuel. "The distance is—"
"Astronomical," Er'dox finished. "Literally. But she's not deterred. Says impossible just means that no one's figured it out yet."
Zor'go laughed. "Jalina says something similar about design problems. Human stubbornness is apparently a feature, not a flaw."
"Stubbornness," Vaxon rumbled. "Elena nearly electrocuted herself yesterday trying to rewire a power junction without proper safety protocols. I had to physically remove her from the conduit."
"How'd that go?" Zor'go asked with what might have been amusement.
"She called me seventeen variations of overprotective. In three languages." Vaxon's expression remained stoic, but something flickered in his cobalt-blue eyes. "Then thanked me. Then immediately argued with my assessment of proper electrical safety procedures."
I smiled despite the weight pressing on my chest. My friends had found their matches. Found beings who challenged them, completed them, made their lives richer than duty alone ever could.
I was happy for them. Genuinely.
The tightness in my chest wasn't jealousy. It was concern. Concern for a human woman who worked herself to exhaustion, who treated her body like an inconvenient machine that required minimal maintenance, who looked at me with those gray-blue eyes and saw only her supervisor.
"Zorn." Er'dox's voice cut through my thoughts. "You've been staring at your food for two minutes without eating."
I looked down. He was right. My utensil hovered over the plate, forgotten.
"Apologies. Distracted."
"By a certain human trauma surgeon?" Zor'go leaned forward, markings shimmering with interest. "You've been watching her for weeks. Everyone in medical has noticed."
"Professional observation," I said automatically. "She's a new addition to my department. It's my responsibility to ensure proper integration."
"Integration." Vaxon's tone was flat. "That's what we're calling it."
Er'dox set his utensil down again. There it was, the gesture that meant uncomfortable truths were coming. "Dana is worried about Bea. Says she barely sleeps. Skips meals. Takes every available shift and requests more."
"Jalina tried to involve her in bonding ceremony planning," Zor'go added. "Bea declined. Said she was too busy. Jalina says she's been withdrawn since before the rescue. Months of barely connecting with anyone."
"Elena mentioned nightmares." Vaxon's delivery was matter-of-fact, but his markings pulsed once, a sign of rare emotion from the security chief. "Says Bea wakes screaming. Multiple times per night. Won't talk about it."
I set my own utensil down, appetite gone. "I'm aware of the pattern."
"And?" Er'dox pressed.
"And I'm monitoring the situation."
"Monitoring." Er'dox's expression hardened slightly. "You're monitoring while she destroys herself."
The words landed like physical blows. Because he was right. I'd been watching Bea Santos run herself into the ground for two months, telling myself that professional distance was appropriate, that she needed space to adjust, that my role was to observe and guide, not intervene.
But observation had revealed a truth I couldn't ignore: she wasn't adjusting. She was surviving. Barely.
"Her work performance is exemplary," I said quietly. "She's learned Zandovian medical protocols faster than any non-Zandovian I've trained. Her diagnostic skills are exceptional. Her surgical precision is remarkable. She's an asset to the medical bay."
"And as a person?" Zor'go asked gently. "How is she doing as a being who experienced severe trauma and has been displaced across galaxies?"
I didn't answer immediately. Couldn't, because the truth was uncomfortable. As her supervisor, I saw the brilliant physician. As the Chief Medical Officer responsible for crew wellness, I saw the concerning patterns. But as Zorn, just Zorn, not the title or the duty, I saw something else entirely.
I saw a woman who moved through the medical bay like a ghost haunting the scene of its own death. Who smiled professionally but never reached her eyes. Who helped others heal while her own wounds festered beneath rigid control.
I saw someone I wanted to help in ways that had nothing to do with professional obligation.
That was the problem.
"She's struggling," I admitted finally. "Textbook unprocessed trauma. Burnout indicators. Self-care neglect. Emotional avoidance." I met Er'dox's eyes. "And she's my subordinate. My intervention options are limited by professional ethics."
"Fuck professional ethics," Er'dox said bluntly. "Excuse the human vulgarity, but Dana would say the same. Sometimes caring means crossing boundaries that make us uncomfortable."
"Er'dox is right." Zor'go's voice was unusually serious.
"When Jalina first started working with me, she was lost. Homesick.
Drowning in displacement. I could have maintained professional distance.
Should have, probably. But I saw someone brilliant and hurting, and professional distance felt like abandonment. "
"You helped her," I observed.
"I pushed her. Challenged her. Gave her purpose." Zor'go paused. "And yes, I fell for her in the process. But that doesn't invalidate the necessity of the intervention."
Vaxon shifted in his seat. "Elena needs constant monitoring. Not because I doubt her competence, she's brilliant. But because brilliance doesn't prevent self-destruction. Sometimes the most capable beings need someone to catch them when they fall."
I looked at my friends, males who'd all found human mates, who'd all navigated the complexity of cross-species attraction while maintaining professional responsibilities. Who'd all chosen to prioritize the person over the protocol.
"I've reviewed Bea's medical file," I said quietly.
"Downloaded it from the Liberty ship's database fragments we recovered.
She was a trauma surgeon on Earth. Worked in high-volume emergency departments for years.
Exceptional performance reviews. Multiple commendations.
Then she joined the Liberty expedition, seeking—" I pulled up the exact wording on my neural implant "—'a fresh start and opportunity to use her skills in new contexts. '"
"Running from something," Er'dox observed.
"Or toward something," Zor'go countered. "Maybe both."
"The Liberty disaster happened three months into their journey.
" I continued reading. "Seventeen humans survived the crash on the burning planet.
Bea provided medical care in impossible conditions.
Cave shelter, minimal supplies, patients with severe injuries.
She kept them alive for six weeks until we found them. "
The silence that followed carried weight.
"Six weeks," Er'dox said finally. "Six weeks of triage without adequate resources."
"Six weeks of making impossible choices about who to treat first, who might survive, who to let die.
" I closed the file display. "And then we brought them aboard Mothership.
Put them through the VR upload. Assigned them servant positions because they couldn't pay for transport.
Bea was placed in hydroponics initially. "
"Wasted potential," Vaxon muttered.
"Agreed. Which is why I requested her reassignment to medical four months ago. Captain Tor'van approved. She's been under my supervision since."
"And in that time?" Er'dox prompted.
"She's thrown herself into work with single-minded intensity.
Takes double shifts. Volunteers for every emergency.
Studies Zandovian medicine during her off-hours.
Skips meals. Sleeps four hours maximum per night.
" I paused. "And never, not once, has she mentioned the Liberty disaster.
The losses. The choices she had to make. "
"Burying it," Zor'go said softly.
"Using work as medication." I met their eyes. "I recognize the pattern because I've done it myself."