"I'm telling you someone with command-track knowledge is using our emergency beacon." I moved to the central display, pulled up the signal analysis. "Look at the modification pattern. They've altered the base frequency to avoid detection by standard scanners, but maintained the core authentication sequence. This is someone who knows our systems intimately."
"And who's in Sector 447-Theta." Captain Tor'van highlighted the coordinates on the main viewscreen. The sector appeared in holographic detail, a messy tangle of territorial boundaries, debris fields, and contested resources. "Three factions claim this region. The Korthan Imperium, the Free Systems Alliance, and the Xa'then Collective. All three are currently in a state of cold war over mining rights."
"So it's a war zone," I said flatly.
"A potential war zone. The difference being that actual shots haven't been fired yet. But tensions are high, andany unauthorized vessel entering the sector could trigger an incident."
"We're not unauthorized. We're a rescue ship." I heard my voice rising, and fought to control it. "That's what Mothership does. We rescue stranded beings. This is literally our purpose."
"Our purpose is to rescue stranded beings without starting interstellar conflicts." Captain Tor'van's expression softened microscopically. "I understand what this signal means to you. To all the humans aboard. But I have fifty thousand beings on this vessel to consider. I can't risk them all on a signal that might be?—"
"Might be what?" The words burst out of me. "Might be a trap? Might be a trick? Or might be actual human beings who've been floating in space for six months, who've watched everyone they love die, who've survived on hope and desperation and the belief that someone, anyone, would come for them?"
Silence. The bridge crew stopped their work. Everyone stared.
I didn't care.
"You rescued us," I continued, my voice shaking. "Dana and me and Bea and Elena and all the others. We were stranded on a planet that tried to burn us alive every morning. We had no way to signal, no way to communicate, no reason to believe anyone even knew we existed. But you came anyway. You risked your ship and your crew to save seventeen humans you'd never met and had no obligation to."
"That was different—" Captain Tor'van began.
"How?" I demanded. "How was it different? Because we didn't have Liberty credentials? Because we were already dying when you found us? Because saving us didn't risk starting a war?"
"Because you were already there," Captain Tor'van said quietly. "We detected your heat signatures. We knew exactlywhere you were and what you needed. This signal is coming from a contested sector where any rescue attempt could be interpreted as territorial aggression. The strategic calculus is entirely different."
"The strategic calculus." I heard Dana's sharp intake of breath behind me. Saw Zor'go's markings flicker in my peripheral vision. "These are people. My people. Our people. And you're calculating whether they're worth the risk?"
"I'm calculating whether I can save them without dooming everyone else aboard this vessel. That's my responsibility as captain."
I wanted to scream. Wanted to throw something. Wanted to demand he do his damn job and rescue the beings who were counting on us. But Captain Tor'van wasn't being cruel. He wasn't being callous. He was being careful.
And I hated that I understood why.
"So what happens now?" My voice came out flat. Empty. "We just ignore the signal? Leave them out there?"
"We investigate." Captain Tor'van pulled up tactical projections on the main display. "Carefully. With full awareness that this could be a trap, a mistake, or a genuine rescue situation. We'll send a small team on a stealth-configured shuttle. Minimal profile, maximum maneuverability. If the signal is authentic and rescue is possible, we'll extract the survivors. If it's a trap, we'll have enough firepower to fight our way clear."
"I'm going." I said it before he finished. Before I could think about what I was volunteering for. "I know the Liberty protocols. I know how our people think. You need someone who can authenticate the survivors quickly."
"You're an architect. Not a security officer."
"I'm a Liberty officer who held command-track clearance. I can verify credentials better than anyone else aboard." I met his gaze, and refused to look away. "And if those people have beenfloating in space for six months, they're going to be traumatized. Terrified. They'll need to see a human face. Someone who understands what they've been through."
Captain Tor'van studied me for a long moment. His cybernetic eye whirred softly as it analyzed, reading my expression, my body language, my heart rate and pupil dilation and whatever else that mechanical horror could detect.
Finally, he nodded. "Approved. But you follow Vaxon's orders. He leads the security team, and if he says we abort, we abort. No arguments. Understood?"
"Understood."
"I'm going too." Zor'go's voice cut across the bridge. He'd been so quiet I'd almost forgotten he was there. "The sector contains significant debris fields and spatial anomalies. You'll need precise navigation calculations to avoid detection."
"You're Head of Operations," Captain Tor'van said. "We can't risk?—"
"My spatial analysis skills are essential for this mission. You know it, and I know it. I'm the logical choice." Something in Zor'go's tone dared the captain to argue. "Unless you'd prefer to send someone less qualified and risk the entire team?"
The two Zandovians stared at each other. Some silent communication passed between them, captain to subordinate, superior to officer, maybe friend to friend. I couldn't read the nuances. Couldn't understand what wasn't being said.
"Fine," Captain Tor'van said finally. "But the same rules apply. Vaxon commands. No arguments."
