Page 4 of Starlight, Starbright
“Hale has the access.” Her jaw muscles contract visibly. Anger or frustration, difficult to distinguish. “But I can't prove anything. And without proof, accusing anyone creates exactly the kind of chaos you're trying to avoid.”
She's correct. The accusation would divide her department, reduce efficiency by an estimated 30%, and potentially alert the saboteur. “Continue monitoring. Document everything. When the next fluctuation occurs, I want real-time observation of all relevant personnel.”
“Already planned.” She straightens, and our eyes meet briefly. A slight blush colors her cheeks. “Thank you for taking this seriously.”
“Your expertise warrants serious consideration.” The words emerge more formally than intended. “I would be... inefficient not to acknowledge superior pattern recognition when presented with it.”
Her mouth curves upward in a genuine smile that causes my markings to brighten without command. She notices, her gaze flicking to my temples before she turns to leave.
The Council's mission parameters didn't include contingencies for this particular form of distraction.
Giorgi Perrin occupies the chair across from my desk at precisely 1400 hours.
He's the civilian council head, a man of fifty-three standard years with graying hair and an expression that suggests perpetual optimism despite the mathematical improbability of maintaining such emotional consistency. His thermal signature indicates genuine calm. No stress markers, no deceptionpatterns. Unusual for someone requesting resources during a mission with tightly controlled supply chains.
“Captain, thank you for seeing me.” He settles into the chair as though we're meeting for recreational purposes rather than official business. “I wanted to discuss expanding the holiday preparations into the secondary habitation rings.”
I pull up the resource allocation spreadsheets. “You've already been granted approval for decorative installations in the primary corridors. What additional resources are required?”
“Lighting, primarily. And some synthetic garland. Maybe some of those projection units for simulating snow.” He leans forward, enthusiasm raising his vocal pitch. “The children are asking about it, and with a little time before December, we could create something really special.”
“Define 'special' in measurable terms.”
He pauses. His eyebrows elevate—surprise response to my request for quantification. “Well... special like making them feel at home. Giving them something to look forward to. Morale is quantifiable, isn't it?”
“Indirectly.” I input calculations based on crew performance metrics since the decorating project began. “Civilian psychological assessments show 12% improvement in reported contentment. Interpersonal conflicts decreased by 8%. Your project correlates with measurable mental health improvements.”
“So we can expand it?”
The logical answer conflicts with resource management protocols. But the data supports his request. “You may expand to the secondary rings. However, power consumption cannot exceed current allocations. If your lighting systems overload circuits, the project terminates immediately.”
“Understood.” He stands, offering his hand—human greeting ritual I've learned to reciprocate. His grip is warm, slightlydamp. “The Chief Engineer has been very helpful with the technical aspects. She's good people, Captain.”
“Chief Martin is competent.” I release his hand, noting the terminology 'good people'. A human idiom indicating positive character assessment beyond professional capability. Interesting.
Perrin leaves, and I return to analyzing Chief Martin's fluctuation data on my primary display. The patterns reveal sophisticated understanding of plasma dynamics and energy distribution networks. Three separate methodologies converge in her analysis, suggesting she approached the problem from multiple theoretical frameworks before synthesizing the results.
Impressive.
The door chimes. I grant entry without looking up, assuming Perrin forgot some detail about his resource request.
“Captain.” Chief Martin's voice, not Perrin's. “Do you have a moment?”
I look up. She's carrying two cups, and the rich scent of coffee cuts through the recycled air. She places one on my desk, the ceramic making a soft sound against the metal surface.
“I thought you might want this.” She settles into the chair Perrin vacated. “You've been reviewing my data for two hours.”
I haven't noticed the time passage. “How did you know?”
“Your office lights show up on my Engineering board. They've been on continuously.” She sips her own coffee, and I notice her hands have been cleaned—the oil stains removed, though faint discoloration remains under her fingernails. “Also, Morris mentioned you missed the scheduled officers' meal. You need to eat, Captain. Even Zephyrians need fuel.”
The observation demonstrates concerning attention to my schedule. Or perhaps it's simply the kind of systemic monitoring any good chief engineer would perform. I choose to interpret it as the latter.
I accept the coffee. The temperature is optimal for consumption. She remembered my preference from the morning briefing. The caffeine content will improve my cognitive function for the next three hours.
“I found additional correlations in your data,” I say, pulling up the relevant screens. “The fluctuations synchronize with crew shift changes. Whoever is executing this has intimate knowledge of personnel schedules.”
She gets up and comes to my side of the desk, leaning in to view the screens directly. Her proximity is immediate—less than an arm's length. From this distance, I can detect her scent profile. Machine oil, yes. But also something floral. Her soap, perhaps, or shampoo. And beneath that, her natural biochemical signature, which registers as pleasant in a way I don't have proper categorization for.
