Page 5 of Starlight, Starbright
“These correlation coefficients are incredible.” She leans closer, pointing at specific data intersections. Her arm brushes my shoulder. Incidental contact that elevates my skin temperature. “You've mapped it against every variable. This must have taken hours.”
“Several hours.” I'm acutely aware of her proximity, of the way her breathing rhythm changes when she concentrates. “Your initial analysis provided the framework. I simply expanded the dataset.”
She turns her head, and suddenly her face is very close to mine. Her eyes are dark brown with amber striations visible at this distance. Genetic variation in melanin distribution creating unexpected aesthetic complexity.
Her gaze moves to my temples, tracking the patterns there. My markings betray me, shifting toward gold now.
“Your markings,” she says softly. “Do all Zephyrians have them?”
“Yes.” My voice emerges lower than intended. “They're biological light-production organs. Vestigial from our evolutionary history.”
“They're beautiful.”
The compliment strikes me unexpectedly. Beautiful. She's applying aesthetic judgment to biological structures my people have spent centuries training themselves to suppress. The traditional view considers visible markings a sign of poor emotional control—shameful evidence of inner disorder.
But she calls them beautiful.
My markings flare to full gold for a moment before I forcibly redirect the energy flow, returning them to neutral silver-white. The effort requires significant concentration.
Her face flushes. “I should—” She steps back quickly, nearly colliding with the chair. “I should get back to Engineering. Sorry. That was inappropriate.”
“It was—” I search for the correct word. “—unexpected. But not unwelcome.”
She's already at the door. She turns back briefly, her expression difficult to parse. Embarrassment, certainly, but something else underneath that I lack the framework to identify. She leaves, and I'm alone with cooling coffee and the lingering traces of her scent.
I force my markings to remain stable through conscious effort. This requires significant concentration, which is unacceptable. But the alternative—allowing them to respond naturally to every stimulus she provides—would be visible evidence of compromised emotional control.
The Council cannot observe that level of dysfunction in their appointed captain.
My quarters are smaller than regulation standards for a ship's captain but adequate for my needs.
The sleeping platform occupies one wall, made with precision I don't require but appreciate. My desk holds a single tablet and a small sculpture my mother gave me before this assignment—a crystal formation from our homeworld that refracts light into spectral patterns. The walls are bare except for one viewport showing the star field blurring into streaks of light from our velocity.
Efficient. Minimal. Appropriate for someone meant to demonstrate Zephyrian superiority in command positions.
I sit at my desk and access the human cultural database, searching for information on their December holiday. The Council expects me to understand the species I'm commanding, to predict their behaviors through cultural analysis. This is simply data collection for mission success.
That's what I tell myself as I read about Christmas traditions.
The documentation is extensive and frequently contradictory. Christmas appears to be simultaneously religious observance, commercial enterprise, family celebration, and seasonal festival. Humans decorate their living spaces with evergreen plants. Dying vegetation they bring indoors, which seems counterintuitive to creating pleasant environments. They exchange gifts following complex social protocols about appropriateness and value. They prepare specific foods that vary by regional culture. They illuminate their dwellings extensively despite no practical need for additional lighting.
“The purpose of Christmas,” one anthropological text explains, “is to celebrate hope, family, and the return of light during the darkest time of year. It represents humanity's refusal to surrender to darkness, cold, or isolation.”
Poetic. Impractical. And somehow... compelling.
I think of the civilian deck this afternoon, where Chief Martin balanced on a ladder hanging synthetic greenery. The corridor had been transformed. Warmer somehow, despiteno temperature change. More welcoming despite being the same utilitarian space it was before. The decorations served no practical function, yet everyone moving through that area exhibited elevated positive affect.
Including myself, I'm forced to acknowledge. Observing the decorating process made me feel more content.
I access the security footage from the civilian deck, searching for specific timestamps. There, 1634 hours. Chief Martin on the ladder, reaching up to hook the garland. She's laughing at something Giorgi Perrin said, her smile genuine rather than professional. Her hair has escaped its restraint, strands falling around her face. She's been working for hours at this point, helping civilians with a project that falls far outside her official duties.
Why does she do this? Efficiency analysis suggests she should delegate or refuse entirely. Her engineering responsibilities consume more than enough time. Yet she volunteers additional effort for a project with no professional benefit to herself.
I watch as she climbs down, accepts something from another civilian (Yuki Tanaka, my database identifies her), and laughs again at some shared joke I cannot hear through the security feed's limited audio. Then she looks up, directly at the observation walkway where I stood watching.
Her hand rises in greeting. Informal. Inappropriate for addressing a captain. But her expression suggests no awareness of the breach in protocol, only friendly acknowledgment of my presence.
I recall my formal nod in response, the way I retreated immediately after rather than remaining to observe further. Why did I leave? The logical answer: to avoid distraction from my duties. The uncomfortable answer: because her smiledirected at me caused my markings to activate in ways I couldn't control in that exposed location.
