Page 2 of Starlight, Starbright
“Someone's testing the system's response time and compensation ability. Building a baseline.” The words come outflatter than I intend. “If I wanted to sabotage this ship without triggering alarms, this is how I'd start.”
Tanaka exchanges a glance with Zoric. “That's a serious accusation.”
“It's a serious pattern.” I don't back down. “We have documented evidence of system manipulation. The only question is what they're planning and when.”
Zoric studies the data for a long moment, his fingers steepled in front of him. When he speaks, it's slow and measured. “These are concerning findings. Continue documenting. If this is sabotage, we need sufficient evidence to identify the perpetrator and predict their next move without causing panic among the crew or colonists.”
It's reasonable. Logical. Exactly what I expected him to say. Still, frustration builds in my chest because “Continue documenting” means “Don't act yet,” and every instinct I have says we're running out of time.
“What if we don't have time to document?” I keep my voice level. “What if the next test isn't a test?”
“Then we'll handle it.” He stands, and suddenly I'm reminded of the physical reality of him. He's tall enough that I have to look up despite being 5'8” myself, shoulders broad enough to block the wall display behind him. “But we won't create chaos based on speculation. Dismissed.”
The others file out. I'm gathering my data when Zoric speaks again.
“Chief Martin.”
I turn. He's still standing by the table, his markings shifting in that slow rhythm. Not quite steady.
“I take your concerns seriously,” he says. “Your expertise is why you hold this position. But this ship carries everyone aboard. I can't order emergency protocols without certainty.”
“I understand.” And I do, even if it makes me want to throw my tablet across the room. “Sir.”
“Continue your investigation. If you find evidence of imminent threat, come to me immediately. Any hour.” He pauses. “Your instincts have value, even if they can't be quantified in a report.”
The words catch me off-guard enough that I look up and meet his eyes directly. The markings along his temples brighten slightly. For a moment we just stand there, the table between us, and I'm aware of how tall he is, how the light catches the silver tracery on his skin. Professional respect, yes. But something else too, something I don't have time to examine.
I nod and step back, breaking whatever that was. “Thank you, sir.”
I leave before I say something unprofessional about how much good my instincts will do after the ship explodes.
Three hours later, I'm on the civilian deck helping Giorgi Perrin and his volunteer committee hang holiday decorations.
The contrast between here and Engineering is always jarring. Where the lower decks are all harsh utility and exposed conduits, the habitation rings were designed for comfort. High ceilings, warm lighting that mimics natural sunlight, and actual trees growing in hydroponics planters along the central corridor. Right now, someone's piped in music through the public address system, some ancient recording of bells and orchestral strings that Perrin swears is traditional.
“Higher,” Perrin calls up to me. “The garland needs to drape, not sag.”
I'm balanced on a ladder, stretching to hook fake greenery over a support beam. The plastic pine needles feel waxy under my fingers, and the whole thing smells vaguely chemical. “It's only early December. You're starting decorations early.”
“Exactly why we need to start now.” Perrin grins up at me, his round face cheerful despite the logistics headache of coordinating decorations across three habitation rings. “By the time Christmas arrives, everyone will be so used to the lights they won't remember what darkness looked like.”
There's probably something profound in that, some metaphor about hope and preparation and long journeys. I hook the garland and climb down, accepting the next section from Yuki Tanaka (no relation to the commander) who's been untangling strings of lights for the past hour.
“My grandmother always put up decorations the day after Thanksgiving,” I say, testing the garland's weight. “She'd make everyone help, even my uncles who complained the whole time. Took us three days to cover the house.”
“What was your favorite part?” Yuki asks.
The question catches me off guard. I haven't thought about Grandma's house in years. Not since before I joined the Coalition and started moving from ship to ship, chasing positions and trying to prove I was good enough that another disaster wouldn't happen on my watch. “The star,” I say finally. “She had this old star for the top of the tree, all tarnished silver and crystal. She said her mother brought it from Mexico when she immigrated. It was supposed to bring light to travelers.”
Perrin makes a note on his tablet. “We should find you a star, then. For the main tree in the plaza.”
I start to protest that I'm not sentimental, that I'm only here because Perrin asked nicely and I needed a break from staring at data, but movement catches my eye. Up on the observation walkway that overlooks the corridor (the one crew uses to monitor civilian areas without being intrusive) Captain Zoric stands watching.
He's not hiding. Just observing, arms crossed, his expression unreadable at this distance. But there's something about hisposture, the slight tilt of his head, that suggests puzzlement. I imagine what this must look like to him: dozens of humans hanging fake plants and colored lights, playing music that has no functional purpose, preparing for a holiday that celebrates concepts his people have spent centuries trying to suppress.
I raise my hand in a wave. Awkward. Probably too casual for someone waving at their captain. But he responds with a formal nod, and then he's gone, disappearing down the corridor like he was never there.
“The captain doesn't understand Christmas, does he?” Yuki says softly.
