Page 28 of Starlight, Starbright
“Weeks ago,” I correct breathlessly.
Then I'm pulling him back down, kissing him again because now that I've started I can't stop. My back hits the desk. His hands are on my hips, my waist, my face. His skin is warm against mine, heat and light and touch.
I arch into him. Wrap my arms around his neck. His heart beats fast under my palm when I slide my hand to his chest.
“I've wanted?—”
The ship-wide comm crackles to life. Not an alarm. A voice.
Walsh's voice. Calm. Authoritative. “This is Senior Supervisor Burton. As you can see, our integrated systems are failing. Alien command has led us to the brink of disaster.”
We break apart, turning toward the speaker.
“I am officially invoking emergency protocol 7-Delta,” Walsh continues. “All non-essential personnel are to prepare for hibernation. We will configure the ship for minimal life support, beacon the Terran Colonial Authority, and await rescue by qualified human engineers.”
“He's making a coup,” I whisper, staring at the speaker.
Zoric is already moving, grabbing his comm unit. “Tanaka, status.”
“He's locked us out of the comms, Captain,” Tanaka's voice replies, tinny from Zoric's small device. “He's broadcasting on an engineering channel. We can't override.”
Zoric looks at me. His markings are still gold, but his expression is hard. “Go. Save them.”
But something's changed. The kiss, Walsh's broadcast—it all broke something open inside me. Cleared away the despair that was paralyzing my thoughts.
I turn to the console. Pull up the power grid. See the same failing systems, the same impossible math.
But now I see something else too.
ZORIC
The conference room feels smaller than its dimensions suggest.
Eight officers crowd around the table. Commander Tanaka to my right, expression neutral but attentive. Tobias Hale across from her, tablet displaying security logs. Lieutenant Fletcher from navigation. Diana Moss from communications. Giorgi Perrin representing the civilian council.
And Senior Supervisor Burton.
Paige stands at the head of the table, projecting schematics onto the central display. Her uniform shows signs of the past hours. Oil stains on both sleeves. Hair escaping its restraint. Exhaustion evident in the slight tremor of her hands as she manipulates the holographic controls.
“Walsh's plan is to put the ship into hibernation and wait for a human rescue,” she says, her voice steady. “He believes that proves human superiority. That alien command has failed.” She looks at me. “He's wrong.”
She pulls up a different schematic, a complex web of secondary conduits and power relays. “This is the Starbright grid. Built by four hundred civilians. They installed fiber-optic lines, junction boxes, and power distribution nodes throughoutthe habitation rings. These people know the pathways. They understand the connections. Walsh sees them as passengers. I see them as a resource.”
“You're proposing we use untrained civilians for emergency engineering repairs.” Fletcher's tone carries skepticism. “That violates numerous safety protocols.”
“I'm proposing we use their existing knowledge of systems they built to bypass the damage,” Paige counters. “We have twenty critical repair sites. My department has eleven qualified engineers. We cannot complete the work alone. But with their help, we can create a parallel power grid. We don't have to surrender. We can save ourselves.”
Walsh leans forward, his face flushed. “Captain, we need to face reality. The integrated systems are failing. We should implement emergency protocols—shut down to minimal life support, put non-essential personnel into hibernation, and beacon the Terran Colonial Authority. Let qualified human engineers handle this instead of risking everyone on experimental alien-human cooperation.”
The vehemence in his tone exceeds professional disagreement. He's not just suggesting a plan; he's promoting an ideology.
“Chief Martin's analysis is sound.” I stand. “We face cascading system failures. Traditional repair timelines are insufficient. We require an unconventional solution.”
“Captain, surely—” Fletcher begins.
“The Chief Engineer has identified personnel with relevant knowledge and proposed a way to minimize risk.” I move around the table to stand beside Paige. “Her unconventional solutions have saved this ship twice in the past week. I trust her assessment.”
My hand finds hers. The gesture is deliberate. Public.
