"I'm trying to keep a valuable engineer alive and functional. There's a difference."
"Is there?"
I didn't answer, because I wasn't entirely sure myself. Professional concern for a crew member's safety was standard.This felt like something more, something that complicated the carefully maintained boundaries of supervisor and subordinate.
"Two hours," I said instead. "Get your gear together. And Dana? Stay close to me during the mission. Whatever we find at those coordinates, we handle it together."
She nodded, and I watched her disappear around the corner before returning to Engineering. Krev was waiting at my station with an expression I couldn't quite read.
"So," he said. "Taking the junior engineer on a potentially dangerous reconnaissance mission. That's certainly a choice."
"She decoded the signal. She understands human technology. Her presence is operationally necessary."
"Right. Operationally necessary. That's definitely the only reason you volunteered to take her into potential combat."
"I didn't volunteer. Captain Tor'van assigned?—"
"You argued for her inclusion before the Captain made his decision. I was monitoring the command channel." Krev's metallic green skin reflected the console lights. "Er'dox, I've worked with you for three years. I know when you're making decisions based on logic versus when you're making them based on something else."
"What something else?"
"That's what worries me. Because if I can see it, others can too. And having feelings for a crew member under your direct supervision is?—"
"I don't have feelings," I said too quickly. "I have professional respect for a competent engineer who's proven her capability."
"Keep telling yourself that. Maybe eventually you'll believe it."
He returned to his station, leaving me staring at the central displays and trying to convince myself he was wrong.
Professional respect. Professional concern. Professional boundaries carefully maintained.
That's all this was.
It had to be all this was, because anything else would complicate everything in ways I couldn't afford to process.
I had two hours to prepare for a reconnaissance mission that might be routine or might be catastrophic. Two hours to brief my team, check equipment, review tactical protocols with Vaxon's security personnel.
Two hours to convince myself that Dana's safety was just another operational concern, no different from monitoring power distribution or maintaining structural integrity.
Just another variable in the system.
Nothing more.
The mission prep went exactly as expected with Vaxon briefing tactical protocols with military precision, Dana listening with intensity that suggested she was memorizing every detail, the rest of the team falling into practiced routines.
I watched her check her equipment three times, her engineer's thoroughness applied to field gear she barely knew how to use. I watched her stand slightly apart from the security team, not quite integrated but trying to maintain professional composure.
She was terrified. The tension of her shoulders showed with the careful control of her breathing, the way her hands wanted to shake but she wouldn't let them.
And she was going anyway, because other humans might need help, and Dana would walk through fire before abandoning her people.
That determination was going to get her killed or make her exceptional.
Possibly both.
"Boarding in five minutes," Vaxon announced. "Final equipment check. Move with purpose."
Dana caught my eye across the landing bay, and I saw the question there: Am I ready for this?
