"I'm suggesting that beings need options. Ceiling heights that vary, high for those who need open space, lower for those who find it comforting. Lighting controls that go beyond on and off. Sound dampening for light sleepers. Private spaces that actually feel private, not just functional."
I flipped through my notebook, showing him sketches I'd made during sleepless nights. Residential clusters arranged around shared courtyards instead of identical corridors. Community spaces that invited congregation without forcing it. Windows, or the holographic equivalent, that broke up the monotony of metal walls.
"You're designing for efficiency," I said quietly. "I get that. Resources are limited, space is limited, time is limited. But beings aren't machines. We need more than shelter. We need places that feel like homes."
Zor'go studied my sketches with an intensity that made my skin prickle. His long fingers hovered over the notebook pages, not quite touching, as if my primitive paper-and-charcoal work might contaminate his holographic perfection.
The silence stretched. I counted my heartbeats, a habit from the burning planet, from those endless nights in the cave when we'd counted everything to stay sane. Twenty beats. Thirty. Forty.
"Your corridor angles are inefficient," he said finally.
My stomach dropped. Right. Of course. I'd just wasted three hours of the Head of Operations' time with impractical fantasies about feelings and?—
"But they're psychologically sound." He looked up from the sketches, those ice-blue eyes meeting mine directly. "Your community courtyard design would reduce the isolation that contributes to depression in long-term space habitation. The varied ceiling heights would prevent the spatial monotony that causes ambient anxiety. And your sight line studies..." He traced one of my sketches with a finger that could easily span my entire notebook. "They account for species-specific comfort zones I hadn't considered."
I stared at him. Was that approval?
"Show me how this works at scale," Zor'go said, already pulling up a new holographic workspace. "Your concepts need to integrate with Mothership's existing infrastructure. The power grid alone requires?—"
"Decentralized distribution nodes," I finished before I could stop myself. "Independent systems for each residential cluster so a failure in one section doesn't cascade through the whole network. Elena's been working on modular electrical frameworks that could?—"
I cut myself off. Zor'go was looking at me with something I couldn't quite read. Surprise, maybe. Or recognition.
"You've been studying the infrastructure," he observed.
"I've been studying everything." Heat crept up my neck. "I mean—not in a creepy way. I just... I can't design spaces without understanding the systems that support them. And I couldn'tsleep anyway, so I might as well learn how Mothership actually works instead of just existing on it and?—"
"Stop apologizing for being competent."
The words hit like a physical blow. Not harsh, just direct. Matter-of-fact.
I closed my mouth. Adjusted my glasses. Tried to pretend my hands weren't shaking.
Zor'go pulled up a holographic framework, the skeletal structure of his expansion design, all the underlying systems exposed. "If you're going to work on this project, you need to understand what you're working with. This is Mothership's power distribution architecture."
For the next three hours, he walked me through the expansion's technical specifications. Not talking down to me, not simplifying, just explaining with the kind of focused intensity that suggested he'd forgotten I was human, forgotten I was supposed to be irrelevant. He treated me like a colleague.
I sketched while he talked, translating his technical specifications into spatial concepts, asking questions when I didn't understand, arguing when I disagreed with his assumptions. The creative flow was intoxicating with that rare synchronicity when two minds work toward the same goal from different angles and somehow meet in the middle.
We developed a rhythm. He'd present a system requirement, I'd visualize how it impacted lived experience, he'd recalculate to accommodate my modifications. My rough sketches became holographic models, his rigid efficiency softened with psychological consideration. It felt like building something new from scratch, something neither of us could create alone.
At some point, someone brought food. I didn't remember eating it. At another point, the lighting shifted, Mothership's artificial day-night cycle adjusting. I barely noticed.
What I did notice was the way Zor'go's markings flickered when he was excited about an idea. The precise way he gestured through holographic displays, all sharp angles and elegant economy of motion. How his ice-blue eyes would narrow when he was calculating, widen slightly when I surprised him with an insight he hadn't considered.
He was beautiful, I realized distantly. Not in a human way, he was too tall, too angular, too fundamentally alien for that. But in the same way his blueprints were beautiful. All proportion and precision and perfect balance.
I shoved that thought down deep where it couldn't cause problems.
"This neighborhood cluster," Zor'go said, highlighting a section of the design we'd modified together. "Your variable pod configurations increase construction complexity by thirty-seven percent, but they reduce projected psychological support requirements by sixty-two percent. The trade-off is mathematically sound."
"You measure psychological wellbeing in percentages?"
"Dr. Senna provides quarterly mental health assessments across all crew and residents." He pulled up what looked like statistical models. "Correlation between environmental factors and reported satisfaction levels is well-documented. Your designs directly address the primary stressors identified in current high-density habitation sectors."
I studied the data, trying to process the idea that someone had actually quantified misery on Mothership and I could potentially reduce it with architecture. The responsibility felt enormous.
"You'll need to present these concepts to the engineering council," Zor'go continued. "They'll want detailed specifications, structural calculations, cost-benefit analyses. Your sketches won't be sufficient."
