Instead, I simply walked out of my office, leaving the expansion plans hovering in the empty air, and headed toward the observation deck.
The corridors were bustling with shift changes—crew members of a dozen species moving through spaces I'd designed years ago. Efficient pathways, optimal traffic flow, zero wasted movement. Everything functions exactly as intended.
But as I walked, I noticed things I'd never paid attention to before. A pair of Xytharian engineers laughing together near a maintenance junction, their crystalline voices chiming in harmony. A family of Gorvathi clustered around a viewport, the adults pointing out constellations to their offspring. Three humans from the Liberty group, not Jalina, but others I'd seen in the mess hall, sharing a meal in one of the small alcove spaces Jalina had convinced me to incorporate into the newer sections.
People weren't just moving through my designs. They were living in them. Creating moments and memories in the spaces I'd built.
When did I stop noticing that?
The observation deck was quieter, designed for contemplation rather than traffic. The massive transparent panels offered an unobstructed view of the stars. We'd dropped out of warp an hour ago, giving the engines time to cool beforethe next jump. The void looked almost peaceful at sublight speeds, stars distant and eternal.
Jalina sat in the corner she favored, exactly where I'd expected her. But she wasn't alone.
Dana and Bea flanked her, the three human women huddled together in a configuration I'd seen before as mutual support, shared vulnerability, the physical closeness humans seemed to need when processing emotional complexity.
I should leave. This was clearly private.
But Jalina looked up before I could retreat, her dark eyes meeting mine across the deck. Her expression shifted with surprise, then something warmer that made my markings flicker in response.
She said something to Dana and Bea, then stood and walked toward me.
I met her halfway.
"Hi," she said, adjusting her glasses with one charcoal-stained finger. The gesture was so quintessentially Jalina that something in my chest contracted.
"Hello," I managed. "I didn't mean to interrupt."
"You're not. We were just..." She glanced back at her friends, who were watching with undisguised interest. "Talking about the rescue mission. The one Captain Tor'van announced at the morning briefing."
Right. The mission. We were scheduled to investigate a distress beacon from a mining vessel in the Contested Reach, dangerous territory, but Captain Tor'van never ignored legitimate distress calls.
"Your friends are concerned," I observed.
"Dana's practical. She wants to know the engineering specs of the rescue shuttle. Bea's worried about potential casualties and whether medical supplies are adequate." Jalina smiled slightly. "I'm just thinking about the miners. Whether they havefamilies. Whether they'll have somewhere to go after we rescue them."
Of course she was. Because Jalina didn't just see beings as resources to be efficiently relocated. She saw them as individuals with histories and hopes and futures that needed consideration.
"They'll have somewhere to go," I said. "Your expansion project ensures that. Mothership will have capacity for another three hundred beings by the time we return."
"Because we built it together." She stepped closer, close enough that I could smell the faint scent of charcoal and the floral soap she used. "Zor'go, about last night?—"
"You don't need to explain." The words came faster than I intended. "I understand if you regret?—"
"I don't regret it." Her interruption was firm. "I've been thinking about it all day. About what it means that I kissed you. About what I want." She took a breath. "About whether you want the same thing."
My markings were flickering rapidly now, betraying my agitation. I forced them to stillness through sheer will. "What do you want?"
"I want to have dinner with you. Not a working meal where we pretend to focus on traffic patterns while stealing glances at each other. An actual dinner. Just us." Her hands twisted together as nervous, vulnerable. "I want to learn about your family on Garmuth'e. About why you chose Mothership. About what you dream about when you're not designing cities." She looked up at me, her brown eyes impossibly open. "I want to know you, Zor'go. Not just work with you."
The observation deck felt too small suddenly. Too full of possibilities I didn't know how to categorize or control. Every instinct I'd cultivated over decades demanded I retreat to something safe, suggest a professional working dinner, maintainproper boundaries, protect us both from the complications of deeper connection.
But Kex'tar's words echoed in my mind:When was the last time you let yourself actually occupy a space instead of just designing it?
"There's a space station," I heard myself say. "On the edge of the Virnak System. We'll pass within range during our return from the rescue mission. It hosts an architectural exhibition of buildings from seventeen different species, structures that sing and grow and exist in ways impossible on stable planets." I paused, committing fully to this unprecedented deviation from routine. "I've never attended. The timing never aligned with mission schedules. But I could arrange shore leave. If you'd accompany me."
Jalina's face transformed. The smile that spread across her features was luminous, incandescent, powerful enough to recalibrate every priority I'd ever established.
"A date," she said, testing the word.
