But I looked down at Jalina, at her open expression and the trust in her dark eyes, and consciously chose to set aside the projections and probability analyses.
Just for this moment.
Just for her.
We sat together as Mothership hurtled through the void toward the Contested Reach, toward the rescue mission, toward whatever complications awaited us. The expansion project waited in my office, half-complete and demanding attention. Duty protocols suggested I return to work, maximize productivity during these final hours before the mission.
Instead, I stayed.
Dana and Bea resumed their conversation, something about medical supply configurations and rescue protocols. Jalina leaned more heavily against my side, her breathing gradually synchronizing with mine, a biological phenomenon I'd read about but never experienced. The harmonization of respiratory patterns between bonded individuals.
We weren't bonded. Not officially. Bonding required formal ceremonies and biological compatibility assessments and a dozen other procedural steps.
But sitting there, feeling Jalina's heartbeat through the points where our bodies connected, I understood what Kex'tar had been trying to tell me.
I was already falling.
Had been falling since she'd walked into my office six months ago with her ridiculous paper notebook and charcoal-stained fingers and called my life's work "storage units."
The terrifying part wasn't the falling.
It was realizing I didn't want to stop.
Chapter 9
Jalina
The data pad's priority alert chimed at exactly 1347 hours, right as I was explaining to Zor'go why the residential cluster's communal kitchen needed a second prep station.
"The workflow creates a bottleneck," I said, gesturing at the holographic model floating between us. We'd been at this for six hours straight, refining the neighborhood configurations for the habitat expansion. My back ached from standing, my eyes burned from staring at projections, and my stomach had been growling for the past forty minutes. But the work was almost perfect. Almost. "If we add another sink here and move the cooling units?—"
The chime cut through my words. Not the standard notification tone. The emergency frequency.
Priority. Eyes only.
I fumbled for the pad on Zor'go's desk, nearly knocked over his crystalline calculating device, the one he'd explained came from his homeworld, passed down through five generations of architects. My fingers felt clumsy as I entered my security code.
The screen flickered. Text appeared.
LIBERTY EMERGENCY BEACON DETECTED
MODIFIED FREQUENCY - CREW RECOGNITION PROTOCOL ACTIVE
COORDINATES: SECTOR 447-THETA, CONTESTED BORDER REGION
AUTHENTICATION: LIBERTY COLONY SHIP, REGISTERED EARTH FLEET
The world tilted. The holographic model blurred. Sound became cotton in my ears. Zor'go's voice asked something, the hum of the ventilation system, the distant thrum of Mothership's engines. All of it faded beneath the roar of my own heartbeat.
Liberty.
Someone from Liberty was out there. Alive. Trying to reach us.
"Jalina?" Zor'go's hand appeared in my peripheral vision, not touching but hovering near my shoulder. "What is it?"
I couldn't speak. Couldn't form words. Just held out the pad with shaking hands.
He took it. Read quickly, his ice-blue eyes scanning the text with that analytical intensity that usually made me feel safe. Now it just made me feel exposed. Vulnerable.
