Chapter 2 #2
"She's also…" I searched for adequate words.
Failed. "Small. Fragile. Moves like she's made of nervous energy and determination.
I could break her accidentally just by existing too close.
But she climbs into power conduits that could kill her without hesitation.
Faces danger I would avoid through proper planning with nothing but confidence and insulated gloves. "
"That's attraction mixed with terror."
"It's complicated."
"That's putting it mildly." Er'dox moved toward the gymnasium exit. "Talk to her. Directly. Not about work schedules or safety protocols. About why she's doing this to herself."
"She won't listen."
"Probably not. But you'll have tried." He paused at the doorway. "And when she inevitably does something catastrophically dangerous, you'll be there to catch her. Because that's what you do."
The prediction felt inevitable. I'd been tracking Elena's escalating risk-taking for months. Each assignment slightly more dangerous than the last. Each solo operation taking her further from backup support. Each decision prioritizing ship functionality over personal safety.
Eventually the pattern would intersect with actual disaster.
My job was ensuring I was there when it did.
I showered quickly, military efficiency never quite faded, and headed for my office. The security center hummed with activity even at 0430 hours. Mothership never slept, which meant security never slept either.
"Commander." My second, Tor'kesh, looked up from his console. "Morning patrol reports are compiled. Two minor incidents in the entertainment sector, both resolved. One equipment malfunction in cargo bay seven, maintenance is handling it. And…"
His hesitation was unusual. Tor'kesh reported facts without emotional coloring.
"And?" I prompted.
"Electrical systems filed a priority maintenance alert for Sector Nine power grid. The report was submitted by Elena Vasquez at 0237 hours."
Something cold settled in my chest. "What kind of alert?"
"Potential cascade failure in the primary distribution node. She's requesting authorization for emergency repairs during active operations." Tor'kesh pulled up the report. "Standard protocol would be to shut down the sector grid during maintenance, but she's proposing to work live systems."
Of course she was.
I read the report twice. Elena's technical assessment was flawless, she'd identified a degradation pattern that monitoring systems had missed, projected failure probability at seventy-three percent within the next forty-eight hours, and outlined a repair procedure that minimized downtime at the cost of significant personal risk.
The repair made sense. The methodology was sound. The danger was unacceptable.
"Deny authorization," I said.
Tor'kesh's expression didn't change. "She anticipated that response. Included an addendum noting that sector shutdown would disrupt operations for 4,000 crew members across twelve departments, while her proposed live repair affects only her personal safety."
Clever. Make it about crew welfare versus individual risk, knowing I'd have to weigh the broader impact against protecting one engineer who didn't want protection.
"Schedule me for the repair," I said. "If she's working live systems, she needs backup."
"Commander, with respect, you're not trained for electrical maintenance."
"I can follow safety protocols and call for emergency response if something goes wrong." I pulled up my schedule, cleared the next two hours. "Approve the repair with the condition that she has security supervision. File it as crew safety oversight."
"She's not going to be happy."
"She rarely is. Send the authorization."
I made it to the Sector Nine maintenance access at 0515 hours.
Found Elena already there, surrounded by diagnostic equipment and enough tools to rebuild the entire power grid from scratch.
She looked up when I arrived, and her expression cycled through surprise, irritation, and resignation in under three seconds.
"Let me guess," she said. "Mandatory security supervision for dangerous operations."
"Standard protocol."
"Standard protocol would be sector shutdown. This is you being overprotective." She turned back to her equipment, but her hands moved just slightly too fast, nervous energy betraying the frustration she tried to hide. "I don't need backup. I've done this repair sequence dozens of times."
"Never on a live system of this complexity."
"There's always a first time."
"Not alone." I moved closer, careful not to crowd her workspace.
At eight feet eight inches, I was nearly four feet taller than her compact five-two frame.
Proximity required calculated distance to avoid overwhelming her physically.
"Walk me through the procedure. If I understand what you're doing, I can provide meaningful support instead of just watching. "
She looked up at me, hazel eyes sharp with assessment. "You actually want to learn?"
"I'm responsible for electrical systems security. Understanding their functionality improves my ability to protect them." True enough. "And you."
The addition made her jaw tighten. "I don't need protection."
"Everyone needs protection. Even brilliant engineers who think they're invincible."
"I don't think I'm invincible. I think the ship's functionality is more important than my personal comfort."
"Your personal safety," I corrected. "Not comfort. Safety."
"Same thing."
"It's not." I crouched, still taller than her standing, but less intimidating from a lower angle. "Elena. Help me understand why you take these risks."
Her hands stilled on the equipment. For a moment I thought she might actually answer honestly. Then her expression closed, became the professional mask she wore like armor.
"Because someone has to," she said. "And I'm good at it. Now either help me or get out of my way. I have approximately ninety minutes before this degradation becomes critical."
I helped. Followed her instructions precisely, held tools when directed, monitored safety readings while she worked with the kind of focused intensity that made everything else disappear.
Watching her was like observing combat, every movement deliberate, every decision carrying weight, every success building toward the larger objective.
She was magnificent.
And completely unaware of it.
An hour into the repair, she miscalculated a power reroute. The distribution node sparked, not dangerous yet, but escalating. I saw her brain work through the problem in real-time, watched her fingers move through correction sequences faster than conscious thought should allow.
"There," she breathed. The sparking stopped. "That was closer than I'd like."
"You handled it perfectly."
"I miscalculated the resistance variance. Rookie mistake." She wiped sweat from her forehead, leaving a grease smear across her temple. "If I'd been alone, that could have gone critical."
"But you weren't alone."
She met my eyes. Held my gaze for three seconds that felt longer. "No. I wasn't."
Something shifted between us. Not solved, nothing about Elena's self-destructive patterns or my compulsive protectiveness was solved. But acknowledged. Seen.
"Repair's complete," she said finally. "Grid stability restored. No sector shutdown required, no operational disruption, no—"
The console behind her exploded.
I moved on instinct, grabbed Elena, pulled her against my chest, turned my back to the sparks and debris flying from the overloaded console. Felt impacts across my shoulders, heard her gasp against my armor plating, registered that she was unhurt even as warning sirens started screaming.
"Emergency shutdown!" Elena shouted, voice muffled against my chest. "Now!"
I hit the emergency cutoff. The sector grid went dark except for emergency lighting.
Silence. Then Elena's voice, small and shaken: "That wasn't supposed to happen."
I loosened my hold enough to look down at her. She was pressed against me, eyes wide, one hand fisted in my tactical vest. Trembling.
"Are you hurt?" I asked.
"No. You?"
"Nothing serious." My shoulders felt warm, probably minor burns through the vest. "What happened?"
"Secondary cascade. Should have been impossible with the rerouting I did, unless…" She pulled away, moved toward the ruined console despite my instinctive grab for her. "Unless someone deliberately sabotaged the failsafes."
The implication hit like tactical assessment. "Someone wanted this repair to fail?"
"Someone wanted me to fail." Elena stared at the destroyed equipment, her expression cycling through shock and realization. "Vaxon. This was deliberate. Someone's been tampering with the electrical systems."
And they'd nearly killed her doing it.