Page 12 of Starlight, Starbright
We stand in silence. Not uncomfortable, precisely, but charged with something I cannot quantify. The distant vibration of engines travels through the deck plates. The environmental systems create soft background noise. Beyond the viewport, stars blur into streams of light.
“My family had this tradition,” she says quietly. “Every December, we'd pick out the brightest star and make wishes. It was silly, but I loved it. Gave me something to look forward to during the darkest part of winter.”
“What did you wish for?” The question emerges before I can consider whether it's appropriate.
“Safety, mostly. For my parents, my brother, myself.” She wraps her arms around herself, though the temperature is slightly cool. “When I joined the Coalition, I started wishing to be good enough. Smart enough. To matter.”
The vulnerability in her voice creates an ache in my chest I cannot explain. “You matter significantly to this vessel's operations. Your technical expertise is exceptional.”
“That's not what I mean.” She turns to face me fully. “I mean mattering to people. Being more than just the person who fixes their problems.”
I process this statement, trying to understand the distinction she's making. “You matter beyond your professional capacity.”
“Do I?” She searches my face. “Or am I just a useful chief engineer?”
“You are both.” The words feel inadequate. I struggle to articulate what I'm experiencing. “Your technical competence isvaluable. But your presence itself has become... significant. In ways I am not trained to categorize.”
She blushes. “What kind of ways?”
I should retreat to professional distance. Reference mission parameters. Redirect this conversation to safer territory. But standing here in the dim lighting with stars reflecting in her eyes, I find my discipline failing.
“I think about you when you're not present. I notice details about you that serve no strategic purpose. The way you move through your department. The specific pattern of your laugh. How your voice changes when you're excited about a solution.” My markings brighten despite my best efforts. “My markings respond to your proximity in ways I cannot fully control. This should not be occurring. Yet it does.”
Her breathing quickens. “Captain...”
“This is inappropriate.” I force the words out. “You are under my command. The Council would consider my responses evidence of compromised emotional control. I should not have said any of this.”
“Zoric.” My name, not my title. The sound of it in her voice produces unexpected neurochemical responses. “What if I want you to be inappropriate?”
The admission freezes my thoughts. When they resume, she's closer. I can see the specific amber striations in her eyes. The way her chest rises and falls with her breathing. The flush spreading across her face.
My markings flood with golden light before I can stop them.
“I should go.” But she doesn't move. “This is complicated enough without...”
“Without what?”
Her words come out in a rush, unfiltered. “Without me standing here wanting to touch you. Without me wonderingwhat your markings feel like under my fingers. Without me thinking about you when I should be thinking about my job.”
My throat constricts. “Paige.”
The use of her first name breaks something in her expression. She steps back abruptly. “I'm sorry. That was inappropriate. I shouldn't have said that.”
“You regret the statement?”
“No.” She backs toward the exit. “That's the problem. I don't regret it at all.”
Then she's gone, leaving me alone in the observation deck with golden markings I can't suppress and a complete inability to categorize what has just occurred.
I remain at the viewport for 28 minutes and 35 seconds, attempting to restore emotional equilibrium. The effort fails. My markings refuse to return to neutral silver. My heart rate remains elevated. My thoughts circle obsessively around the image of her standing close enough to touch, admitting she thinks about me.
Mission parameters do not include falling for my chief engineer.
Yet the evidence suggests I already have.
PAIGE
The life support pump should be humming at 60 hertz. Instead, it's silent.
