Don't leave us behind.
Chapter 10
Zor'go
I spent the next two hours preparing. Equipment check, emergency supplies, updated route calculations for seventeen contingencies. The mechanical process was soothing, concrete tasks with clear completion criteria. Unlike emotional conversations, which had no established protocols and unpredictable outcomes.
At 0715, I headed for the docking bay.
The transport ship gleamed under the hangar lights, sleek lines optimized for speed and maneuverability, heavily shielded for combat situations. Vaxon stood near the entrance, reviewing manifests while his security team conducted final equipment checks.
Jalina was already aboard. I could see her through the transparent section of the hull, seated at a station near the rear, studying something on a datapad. Her dark hair was pulled back, practical instead of pretty. She wore the standard mission jumpsuit that somehow looked simultaneously too large and precisely correct on her small frame.
My markings flickered involuntarily, anxiety and anticipation in equal measure.
"Zor'go." Vaxon's rumbling voice pulled my attention. "Captain Tor'van said you'd be joining us. I hope you've worked out whatever emotional catastrophe happened between you and the architect, because I need both of you functional for this operation."
"We're professionals. We'll manage."
"Professionals who've been avoiding each other for three days and apparently had a public argument in the observation deck." His massive arms crossed over his chest. "Kex'tar told me. The entire command crew knows."
"Wonderful. My personal failures are now common knowledge."
"Your personal failures aren't my concern unless they compromise mission safety." Vaxon's expression hardened. "This is dangerous territory. Raiders, debris fields, potential hostile contact. I need everyone focused. Can you maintain professional conduct?"
"Yes."
"Good. Because if you let personal drama interfere with navigation, I'll space you both and handle the route myself."
He wouldn't actually. Vaxon was brutally pragmatic but not homicidal. Still, the threat was clear enough.
I boarded the transport.
The interior was configured for rapid deployment, secured equipment lockers, medical station, tactical displays, minimal seating. The ship could hold twenty beings comfortably but felt larger with only nine of us aboard. Vaxon's security team: four specialists armed with weapons I couldn't name. Medical support: two trauma responders in case we found survivors. Navigation team: Jalina, myself, and one backup pilot.
Small group. High risk. Standard rescue operation parameters for contested territory.
Jalina looked up as I entered, her expression cycling through surprise, uncertainty, and something that might have been relief before settling on careful neutrality.
"You are here," she said.
"My spatial analysis skills are essential for navigating contested sector conditions." I moved toward the navigation station, maintaining professional distance. "Captain Tor'van agreed."
"Right. Professional necessity." She glanced away, adjusting her glasses. "Of course."
The words carried weight I couldn't immediately interpret. Disappointment? Resignation? I'd never been proficient at reading human emotional subtext.
I should apologize. Er'dox had been explicit about that. But the right words wouldn't form, tangled somewhere between my chest and my vocal cords in a spectacular demonstration of communication failure.
"Jalina—" I started.
"All personnel, secure for departure." Vaxon's voice cut through the cabin. "Launch in three minutes."
The moment dissolved. Jalina turned back to her station, fingers moving across the interface with practiced efficiency. I took my position beside her, close enough to coordinate but not touching, and pulled up the navigation displays.
The contested sector map materialized between us, a three-dimensional representation of space that looked more like abstract art than functional territory. Debris fields marked former battle sites. Gravitational anomalies twisted navigation paths into complex knots. Territorial boundaries overlapped in ways that made legal jurisdiction essentially meaningless.
And somewhere in that chaotic mess, a modified Liberty beacon was transmitting.
