Aris
The ship’s diagnostic panel confirms what we already knew from visual inspection. Communication array: destroyed. Propulsion system: offline. Landing struts: two compromised, one bent beyond immediate repair. Estimated time to restore flight capability: unknown, pending parts we don’t have.
We’re stuck here. No way to call Prospect’s End. No way to leave under our own power.
“Could be worse,” I say, scrolling through the damage reports. “We have shelter. Supplies. Power. Life support intact. Just... no way to communicate our situation or, you know, fly.”
Tynrax stands beside me, reading over my shoulder. His markings flicker irregularly. Violet light pulsing too fast, too bright, then dimming almost to nothing. His emotional control was clearly shattered after what happened in the ruins.
“The colony will realize something’s wrong when we miss our scheduled check-in,” he says. “But that’s not until tomorrow morning. Hours from now.”
“And by the time they organize a rescue mission, we’ll have...” I do quick math. “Maybe two days left before the Christmas deadline. Possibly less.”
“Insufficient time to complete ship repairs even with a rescue team.”
“Right.” I close the diagnostic screen. “So we fix the relay ourselves. That was always the plan. Being stuck here just makes it more urgent. Next, we should inventory our supplies. Determine what we have to work with.”
Always focusing on the mission. I recognize the coping mechanism because I use the same one.
“Agreed,” I say. “And I need to research what happened to you. Figure out how to prevent another episode.”
Three hours later, I’m in the medical bay, surrounded by virtual documents and approximately twelve different cups of terrible instant coffee.
The xenobiology database has files on Zephyrian culture. Pre-Suppression practices. It’s not my field, but I’m enough of a scientist to figure out the basics.
At least, I hope so.
But the texts are fragmented. Badly translated. The details are vague.
Nothing concrete enough to work with.
I keep searching. Hours passing. My coffee gets cold. I drink it anyway.
The search yields scraps. Hints. Nothing definitive.
“Damn it,” I whisper. “There has to be something.”
My eyes burn from staring at the screen. My hands shake occasionally. Aftershock from the violence. Every time I close my eyes, I see Sarpi dying. See Tynrax covered in blood. See those glowing violet eyes that weren’t his anymore.
So I don’t close my eyes. I drink terrible coffee and I research.
The cargo bay is cooler than the rest of the ship. Temperature regulation trying to preserve perishable supplies. I had settled on the floor, my back against a supply crate, datapad in my lap. Reviewing the same fragmented texts for the dozenth time.
Nothing new appears. The information just isn’t there.
“So we know what’s wrong,” I say to the empty bay. “But I don’t know how to fix it.”
Footsteps in the corridor. Tynrax appears in the doorway, carrying two ration packs. He stops when he sees me on the floor.
“You need to eat.”
“I’m working.”
“You’ve been working for hours.” He walks over. Sits down next to me against the crate. Closer than necessary in the large bay. “Eat.”
I take the ration pack. Open it. Protein bar and dehydrated fruit. He opens his own, and we eat in silence for a moment.
The cargo bay hums quietly around us. Equipment secured for the mission. Supplies stacked in organized rows. Everything we need to fix the relay except a solution to the Tynrax problem.
“I found the problem,” I say finally. “The ruins amplify empathic abilities. Force them active. Your conditioning wasn’t designed to handle that level of input.”
“But no solution.”
“Just fragments about empathic anchoring. Partners who could regulate each other. But the texts don’t explain how.” I set down the half-eaten protein bar. “The relay is one kilometer from the ruins. Still within amplification range based on my earlier readings.”
“Distance might help. We could work from two kilometers out.”
“Maybe.” I pull my knees up, wrap my arms around them. “But I think the field is probably larger than we want it to be. And if you lose control while working on the relay...”
“Catastrophic equipment damage. Or injury. Or both.”
“Right.”
He’s quiet for a moment. Then: “So we try the distance approach and hope.”
“Hope is not a strategy.”
“No. But it’s all we have right now.”
We sit there. Both exhausted. Both out of ideas. The cargo bay feels smaller somehow. More confined. I’m aware of how close he’s sitting.
Aware of him.
“Tell me about your family,” I say. I need to think about something else. Anything but these impossible problems.
Surprise flickered in his eyes. “My family?”
“Yeah. Your parents. Why you chose engineering. Something normal.”
He’s quiet for a long moment. Considering whether to share. Then: “My parents are historians. Both of them. They study pre-Suppression artifacts and cultural practices. Trying to understand what we lost when we chose control over connection.”
“That must make you the rebellious one. Choosing engineering instead.”
“They were disappointed initially. But engineering is practical. Builds things that help people. History just records what already happened.” He finishes his ration pack. “My father writes papers about empathic bonding practices. Academic exercises mostly. No one takes it seriously.”
“Except they were right. The ruins prove empathic abilities were real.”
“Real, yes.” He looks at his hands. The ones that tore creatures apart hours ago. “What I became today wasn’t valuable. It was monstrous.”
“You were defending us.”
“I can’t remember doing it. Can’t remember anything except the need to protect.” His voice is flat. Empty. “That’s not defense. That’s madness.”
I shift slightly. Turn to face him more directly. “You didn’t choose to touch that interface. Didn’t choose to go feral. It happened TO you. You’re dealing with it as best you can.”
“You’re very certain about that.”
“I’m certain you’re not a monster. I’m certain you saved my life today.” I hold his gaze. “Everything else is just details we’ll figure out.”
He’s looking at me. Really looking. His markings brighten slightly. Not chaotic like before. Just brighter. Gold starting to edge out the violet.
His gaze was steady. “Thank you,” he says quietly. “For not running. For trying to solve this.”
“Where would I run? We’re stuck on a moon.”
The corner of his mouth lifts. Almost a smile.
We’re sitting close. Closer than I realized. I can see the fine detail of his markings from here. The way they pulse gently now instead of flickering. Can feel the heat radiating from him in the cool cargo bay.
“Tell me something happy,” I say. “From before. When you were a kid.”
He considers this. “There was a garden. On our estate. My mother grew flowering plants that bloomed at night. We’d sit there in the darkness and watch them open.”
“That sounds beautiful.”
“It was. My father would point out the mathematical patterns in the petal arrangements. Golden ratios, Fibonacci sequences.” His voice softens. “I haven’t thought about that garden in years.”
“Why not?”
“Because remembering makes me feel. And feeling is dangerous for my people.” He pauses. “Leads to what happened today.”
“Or maybe suppressing everything is what made today worse. Maybe if you’d had practice dealing with emotions, the amplification wouldn’t have shattered you so completely.”
He’s quiet. Thinking about this. His markings continue to stabilize. The gold is winning over the violet now.
“My parents argue the same thing. That suppression created brittleness. That we should relearn flexibility.” He shifts slightly. Our shoulders almost touching now. “The Zephyrian Council calls them dangerous radicals.”
“And what do you think?”
“I think I spent today tearing things apart because I never learned how to hold them together gently.” His gaze met mine, his markings flickering. “I think maybe my parents are right.”
The cargo bay is very quiet. Just the hum of systems and our breathing. I’m tired. So tired. The adrenaline from earlier has crashed completely, leaving me hollow.
I lean my head back against the crate. Close my eyes for just a moment.
“We should rest,” Tynrax says. “We have a long day tomorrow.”
“Yeah. We should.” But I don’t move. Too comfortable here. Too tired to walk back to my quarters.
“Aris.”
“Mmm?”
“You’re falling asleep.”
“Just resting my eyes.” But my voice sounds distant even to me.
I feel him shift beside me. Feel warmth as he settles more solidly against the crate. His shoulder touching mine now. Solid. Warm.
“Just for a few minutes,” I mumble.
But the exhaustion wins. Sleep pulls me under.
I wake to gray light and a crick in my neck.
For a moment, I’m disoriented. Not in my quarters. Wrong angle. Wrong temperature.
Then I realize where I am. Cargo bay. Still sitting against the supply crate.
And Tynrax is asleep next to me.
Not just next to me. My head is on his shoulder. His head is tipped back against the crate, mouth slightly open, completely out. One of his hands rests near mine on the floor. Not touching but close.
His markings are barely visible. Pale violet traces. Calm. Stable.
Oh no.
I need to move before he wakes up. Before this gets awkward. But moving means waking him, and he looks like he actually got some rest for once.
And also. Also his shoulder is warm and comfortable and I slept better than I have in days and I really don’t want to move.
Which is a problem. A big problem. Because we’re professionals and coworkers and stuck in an impossible situation together. Getting comfortable sleeping on his shoulder is not part of the mission parameters.
I carefully lift my head. Try to shift away without waking him.
His eyes open immediately. Silver-gold, not glowing. Just tired and disoriented.
We stare at each other for a moment. Both realizing the situation at the same time.
I scramble to my feet. Too fast. Nearly trip over my own boots.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.
I just. We both. The cargo bay was closer than our quarters and I thought we’d just rest for a minute but clearly that turned into actual sleep and I should have moved before you woke up but I didn’t want to disturb you because you actually looked like you were getting real rest for once and now I’m babbling. I’m going to stop talking now.”
He stands too. More gracefully than I did. His markings brighten slightly. Amusement? Embarrassment? I can’t tell.
“It’s fine,” he says. His voice is rough from sleep. “We both needed rest.”
“Right. Rest. Which we got. In the cargo bay. Together.” I’m still talking. Why am I still talking? “I’m going to go check the colony power status. And clean up. Because I definitely need to clean up.”
I head for the door. Fast.
“Aris.”
I stop. Turn back. He’s watching me. Expression unreadable but his markings are definitely brighter now. Definitely gold instead of violet.
“We should eat before we head out. Attempt the repairs from maximum distance.”
“Right. Yes. Food. Distance. Repairs.” I nod too many times. “Meet you in the galley in twenty minutes.”
I flee.
Back in my quarters, I splash cold water on my face. Stare at myself in the small mirror.
“Professional,” I tell my reflection. “We’re being professional. Falling asleep on his shoulder was an accident caused by exhaustion. It doesn’t mean anything. We’re just two people trapped by circumstance, just trying to survive.”
My reflection doesn’t look convinced.
I change into clean clothes. Check my datapad.
Power status: sixty-five percent and dropping.
Christmas Eve. Two days left.
“Okay,” I mutter. “Time to see if distance can keep him stable.”
But I’m thinking about how solid his shoulder was. How warm. How his markings went calm and stable while I slept against him.
And I’m thinking that maybe distance isn’t what we need at all.
Maybe we need the exact opposite.
Twenty minutes later, we’re in the galley. Both showered and changed. Both pretending the cargo bay thing didn’t happen. Both drinking terrible instant coffee and eating protein bars like this is a normal morning.
It’s deeply awkward.
“So,” I say finally. “Christmas Eve.”
“Yes.”
“Two days until the deadline.”
“Yes.”
“And we’re going to try working from two kilometers out.”
“That’s the plan.”
Silence. We both stare at our coffee.
“Tynrax.”
“Yes?”
“This morning. In the cargo bay. That was just exhaustion. We both needed sleep and the bay was closer and it doesn’t have to be weird.”
He looks at me. His markings flicker. “I know.”
“Good. Because we’re professionals and we have a job to do and we can’t let things get complicated.”
“Agreed.”
More silence.
“Although,” I say. “I did notice your markings stabilized while you were sleeping. They haven’t been that calm since before the ruins.”
“I noticed that as well.”
“Which might be significant. Scientifically.”
“It might.”
We look at each other. Both thinking the same thing. Both not saying it.
Finally, Tynrax stands. “We should prepare. Gather the equipment. Attempt the repair.”
“Right. Yes. And hope that nothing else happens.” I stand too. “It’s all we’ve got.”