Page 6 of Starlight, Starbright
The footage shows her turning back to the civilians, climbing the ladder again, continuing her work. The image captures something I noticed in person but couldn't properly analyze. The way her entire bearing changes when she's helping others. Less guarded. More... what's the word? Open. Warm.
Beautiful, my own thought surfaces before I can suppress it.
My markings flood with gold light, filling my quarters with warm luminescence I haven't permitted since childhood. They trace silver-gold patterns across my temples, down my throat, along my hands where they rest on the desk. The light reflects off the crystal sculpture, creating additional patterns across the walls.
For several seconds, I simply observe the phenomenon. This is what my markings do naturally when I experience positive affect. Joy, contentment, attraction. My people spent centuries breeding and training this response into suppression because uncontrolled emotional expression nearly destroyed our civilization during the Time of Passion.
But Chief Martin called them beautiful.
I redirect energy forcibly, reducing the luminosity to minimal levels. The effort produces a physical sensation analogous to pain. Sharp pressure behind my eyes, tension across my shoulders. Suppression always costs something. Tonight it costs more than usual.
The Council chose me for this assignment partly as punishment. They'd discovered my “concerning interest” in the reports from Halcyon Station, where a human and Zephyrian had achieved what the Council considered impossible—a successful long-term bond despite our peoples' physiological incompatibilities. I'd filed requests to access the detailed research data. I'd asked questions about whether oursuppression protocols might be causing more harm than the emotions they controlled.
They sent me here to prove that integration was possible through logic and discipline alone. To demonstrate that a Zephyrian could command humans successfully while maintaining perfect emotional control.
Instead, I find myself researching Christmas traditions at two in the morning, watching security footage of a human engineer who makes me forget proper suppression protocols, experiencing biological responses I've been trained my entire life to prevent.
The Council would consider this mission evidence of failure.
I close the database files and security footage. I should sleep. Tomorrow requires full cognitive function for analyzing Chief Martin's updated fluctuation data and maintaining appropriate command protocols during bridge operations.
But when I finally achieve unconsciousness, my mind processes images of Christmas lights, human smiles, and the particular way Chief Engineer Paige Martin looks at me when she calls my biological structures beautiful.
Mission parameters, I remind myself firmly, do not include emotional compromise.
The thought is logical, well-reasoned, and completely unconvincing.
PAIGE
The nav console's warning starts as a whisper. Three amber lights where there should be green.
I'm on the bridge for the morning status report when I notice them. Lieutenant Fletcher at navigation doesn't seem concerned, just taps the display like the amber lights are a minor glitch. But those lights correlate to the forward sensor array. The same array that feeds data during power fluctuations.
“Fletcher.” I move closer to his station. “When did those indicators change?”
“About thirty seconds ago, Chief.” He pulls up diagnostic data. “Probably just drift compensation from the subspace currents.”
Thirty seconds. I pull out my tablet and check the timestamp against my fluctuation logs. 0201 hours. The fluctuation was at 0200.
“Captain.” I turn to find Zoric already watching me, his expression unreadable. “The navigation sensors just experienced a fault during our scheduled power fluctuation. This isn't coincidence.”
He's at the nav station in three strides. “Sensor status?”
“Forward array shows degraded performance.” Fletcher's voice loses its casual confidence. “Seventy percent efficiency and dropping. Sir, we're getting intermittent returns from something ahead. It's not on the charts.”
The main viewscreen shifts to forward view. Nothing visible yet, but space doesn't work that way. If sensors are picking up mass at seventy percent efficiency while degrading, we're heading toward something dense.
“All stop.” Zoric's command cuts through the bridge chatter. “Engineering, full reverse thrust.”
The deck vibrates as engines fire in opposition to our momentum. But we're traveling at point-two lightspeed. Stopping takes time we might not have.
“Captain, forward sensors at forty percent.” Fletcher's fingers fly across his controls. “I'm getting clearer returns now. It's an asteroid field. Dense. Not charted on any of our navigation databases.”
The viewscreen updates. Rocks. Hundreds of them, tumbling in overlapping orbits, creating a maze of stone and ice between us and open space. The ship's computer paints projected trajectories in red, showing collision paths multiplying by the second.
“Time to impact?” Zoric's voice stays level, but I notice his hands tighten on the back of Fletcher's chair.
“Ninety seconds at current deceleration rate.” Fletcher looks up, his face pale. “We can't stop in time.”
