The idea settled into my consciousness like a key finding its lock.
Zor'go designed perfect systems. But perfection without consideration for emotional needs was just beautiful machinery.
I could show him what he was missing.
"Thank you," I said to Zorn. "I think I know what I need to prepare now."
He smiled, warm and genuine. "Good luck, Architect Jalina. Something tells me Zor'go's about to have his entire worldview challenged."
After Zorn left, I stood at the viewport for another twenty minutes, watching the alien stars and letting my mind reshape the concepts I'd sketched. Not just efficient living quarters. Not just optimized traffic flow.
Home. Community. Spaces that understood trauma and displacement and the desperate need to belong somewhere.
That's what Mothership needed. That's what I could offer.
When I finally made my way to Operations, the chronometer read 0545. Fifteen minutes early, but I'd never been good at showing up exactly on time. Anticipation and anxiety always pushed me forward.
The Operations center was on deck twelve, accessed through corridors that grew progressively more sophisticated as you approached the ship's strategic nerve center. Holographic displays lined the walls, showing real-time data on every system aboard Mothership. Power distribution, life support, navigation, structural integrity—all of it flowing through this sector like blood through a heart.
Zor'go's office was at the center of it all.
I'd been here dozens of times over the past two months, but it still took my breath away. The space was enormous even by Zandovian standards, with ceiling-to-floor transparent panels that looked out into space on three sides. In the center, dozens of holographic city models floated in midair, different sectors of Mothership, expansion proposals, optimization scenarios. The projections filled the office with shifting blue light, casting shadows that moved like living things.
And there, standing among the floating blueprints with his back to the entrance, was Zor'go.
His silver-gray skin caught the holographic light, crystalline blue markings shimmering across his lean frame as he gestured through the displays. He was tall even for a Zandovian, eight and a half feet of focused intensity, all sharp angles and elegant proportions. His ice-blue eyes tracked invisible patterns in the data, fingers moving with a precision that made the complex holoprojectors seem like natural extensions of his body.
He didn't turn when I entered. Didn't acknowledge my presence at all.
I clutched my notebook tighter and waited.
And waited.
Five minutes passed. Then ten.
Finally, he spoke without turning. "You're early."
"I wanted to be prepared."
"Then show me what you've prepared."
Not "good morning." Not "how was the ceremony." Just straight to business.
I could work with that.
I moved to the central holoprojector table, carefully navigating around the floating blueprints. Up close, I could see what Zor'go was working on, a massive expansion proposal, adding an entire new sector to Mothership's already city-sized structure.
My breath caught. This wasn't just more crew quarters. This was a full residential district, large enough to house thousands.
"We're expecting a major influx," Zor'go said, still not looking at me. His voice was precise, almost musical, each word carefully chosen for maximum efficiency. "Three colony ships failed in the Kavra sector. Mothership is responding. Estimated arrival: sixteen thousand displaced beings across twelve species."
Sixteen thousand. Dear god.
"Where will they all go?" The question came out before I could stop it.
"That's what you're here to determine." Finally, Zor'go turned to face me.
His ice-blue eyes were striking against his silver-gray skin, intense and analytical. They swept over me in a single assessing glance, noting my rumpled clothes, my smudged hands still stained with charcoal, the notebook I held like a shield.
