"Practical idealism." Zor'go inputted modifications to the model. "A rare combination."
We worked through the traffic calculations, refining the split-level design until it satisfied both aesthetic and functional requirements. The solution wasn't perfect, it required more construction time and increased material costs, but it was better than either of our original concepts.
That's what collaboration was supposed to feel like, I realized. Not one person's vision imposed on another, but two different perspectives creating something new.
"Time," Zor'go said abruptly.
I blinked, pulled from the work. The office lighting had shifted again, darker now, simulating Mothership's night cycle. How long had we been at this?
"0900," Zor'go clarified. "You missed your assigned work shift in medical. Dr. Senna will be concerned."
Oh god. I was supposed to report to the medical bay at 0800. I'd completely forgotten, lost in blueprints and calculations and the intoxicating rhythm of creative problem-solving.
"I should… I need to—" I gathered my notebook, mind already racing through excuses and apologies.
"I'll inform Dr. Senna that you were required here." Zor'go's tone was matter-of-fact. "Your assignment has changed. As of now, you're transferred to Operations full-time. Co-lead architect on the expansion project."
My hands froze on my notebook. "I'm what?"
"Co-lead architect." He said it like it was already decided, like my opinion on the matter was irrelevant. "Your skills are better utilized in spatial design than medical administration. Captain Tor'van will receive the transfer documentation by the end of day."
I stared at him. Six months on Mothership and I'd been filing medical records, sterilizing equipment, doing menial tasks that any competent being could manage. Important work, necessary work, but not... not this. Not co-leading a project that would house sixteen thousand beings.
"I don't—" My voice came out strangled. "You can't just decide that. I'm not qualified to?—"
"You demonstrated qualification this morning." Zor'go turned back to his holographic models, apparently considering the matter settled. "Report at 0600 tomorrow. Bring your notebook and whatever Earth architectural references you have access to. We'll need comparative studies on human-compatible design standards."
He was dismissing me. Just like that. Turning my entire life on Mothership upside down and then going back to work as if he hadn't just?—
"Why?" The word came out sharper than intended.
Zor'go looked back at me, ice-blue eyes unreadable. "Because you see what I don't. Because this project requires more than mathematical precision—it requires understanding how beings actually live in the spaces we create. Because..." He paused,and something flickered across his face too quick to interpret. "Because you were right. I've been designing storage units. That's not acceptable when sixteen thousand lives depend on what we build."
The honesty in his voice was unexpected. Raw. Like the admission cost him something.
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Couldn't find words adequate to the moment.
"0600 tomorrow," Zor'go repeated, already turning back to his work. "Don't be late."
I left his office in a daze, my notebook clutched to my chest like a shield. The corridors of Mothership felt different somehow, not less alien, but less hostile. Like maybe I'd found a place here that was mine, a way to contribute that mattered.
The medical bay was chaos when I arrived. Dr. Senna looked up from a patient chart, her sharp gray-blue eyes taking in my rumpled appearance and charcoal-stained hands with a single glance.
"Jalina. You missed your shift."
"I know. I'm sorry. I was with Zor'go in Operations and we were working on the expansion project and I lost track of time and?—"
"Breathe," Dr. Senna said, dry humor in her tone. "Zor'go already sent the transfer documentation. You're relieved of medical duties effective immediately."
She didn't sound upset. If anything, she looked pleased.
"You're not angry?"
"Angry?" Senna's pale eyebrows rose. "You were never suited to medical administration. You're a designer, not a data clerk. I'm relieved you've found where you belong."
Where you belong. The words settled into my chest with unexpected weight.
"But I'll miss your company," Senna continued. "You and Bea were the only ones who appreciated my dark humor about catastrophic injuries."
