Page 25 of Starlight, Starbright
We sit. I'm immediately aware of the shift in room dynamics. Conversations don't stop, but they quiet. Heads turn. Lieutenant Morris at a nearby table smiles slightly. Two engineers from Walsh's shift stand and leave without finishing their meals.
“That's going to cost me later,” Paige observes, watching them go.
“You don't need to do this.” I keep my voice low. “Association with me is damaging your standing with the crew.”
“I brought extra dessert.” She slides a small plate across to me. “Christmas pudding. Also terrible, according to tradition.”
I examine the dense brown mass on the plate. It appears to have the consistency of compressed asteroid material. “You're avoiding my statement.”
“No, I'm ignoring it.” She takes a bite of her own pudding, makes a slight face, continues eating anyway. “There's a difference.”
“Paige.” I start again. “You're going to face consequences for publicly supporting me,” I say, trying again. “The human crew members who distrust alien command will extend that distrust to you.”
“Worth it.” She meets my eyes directly. Then, softer, so only I can hear: “You're worth it.”
The statement produces responses I cannot adequately suppress. Something in my chest cavity constricts in a way that feels both painful and necessary.
Without thinking, I laugh.
The sound surprises me as much as it appears to surprise her. A brief, genuine expression of something I can't categorizeas anything except joy. Her eyes widen slightly, then she smiles in a way that makes my markings brighten further.
Several crew members are staring now. I observe their reactions through my peripheral vision. Morris looks pleased. Tanaka, eating alone at another table, appears satisfied. The two remaining engineers from Walsh's shift exchange glances and resume their meal in silence.
“Did you just laugh?” Paige asks.
“Apparently.” I attempt the pudding. It's exactly as terrible as advertised. “This is truly unfortunate.”
She laughs now, the sound drawing more attention. “I know. But you're eating it anyway.”
“You brought it for me. Consumption seemed courteous.”
“You don't have to be courteous. You can just tell me it's awful.”
“It's awful.” I set down my fork. “But I appreciate the gesture.”
We eat in companionable silence. The room has accepted our presence together, or hasn't. It no longer matters.
We're walking through the main corridor, decorated with Christmas lights and garlands, when I see it.
The display screen normally showing ship announcements and duty rosters has been overridden. Bold text fills the screen in red lettering: HUMANITY FIRST. Beneath it, a longer message about alien contamination and the necessity of human independence.
The juxtaposition strikes me immediately. Hateful words surrounded by decorations celebrating hope, family, and unity. The colored lights frame the screen in cheerful defiance of its message. The civilians who hung these decorations were building something. This message wants to tear it apart.
Paige stops beside me, reading the message. I observe her thermal signature spike. Anger, I identify. Not fear. Pure anger.
A small group of crew members has gathered, reading the display. Some look uncomfortable. Others appear thoughtful. Two nod slightly in agreement.
“Idiots with keyboards.” Paige's voice carries to the gathered crew. “They don't speak for me.”
She reaches for my hand. Takes it in full view of everyone present. Her palm is warm against mine, her fingers interlacing with mine deliberately.
“Chief Martin,” I say quietly. “You don't need to?—”
“Look at me.” She pivots to face me, her grip on my hand tightening. Reaches up with her free hand and cups my face gently, her thumb tracing the silver marks at my temple. “Not at them. At me.”
I do. Her eyes are fierce, protective.
“I choose you,” she says. Clearly. Loud enough for everyone to hear. “Whatever ignorant propaganda they want to post, it doesn't change what I know. Who I trust. What I feel.”
