The words felt like betrayal. Dana was happy. I was happy.
And Maya had been drifting in a damaged escape pod, watching her fellow survivors die one by one, jury-rigging a beacon from salvaged parts and desperate hope.
Tess stirred on the far cot, her eyes opening briefly. She was younger than Maya and me, maybe mid-twenties. On Liberty, she'd been a botanist. Now she just looked broken.
"Water," she croaked.
I grabbed a hydration pack from the medical supplies, helped her drink. Her throat worked slowly, like she'd forgotten how to swallow properly.
"Where—" she started.
"You're safe. We found your beacon. We're taking you to Mothership." I kept my voice steady, professional. "You're going to be okay."
"Maya? Jacob?"
"Both alive. Being treated."
Tess's eyes welled with tears. "We thought... no one was coming. We thought..."
"I know." I squeezed her hand. "But you're safe now. I promise."
She slipped back into unconsciousness, exhaustion reclaiming her.
Dr. Yar'thon approached, his four hands working on different tasks simultaneously, checking monitors, adjusting medication drips, and recording notes. "They'll recover physically. Psychologically?" He made a gesture with two of his hands that translated roughly to uncertainty. "That will take longer."
"How long were they drifting?"
"Based on their medical scans? Approximately four months. The escape pod was designed for three weeks maximum. They survived on recycled water, emergency rations stretched far beyond recommended limits, and sheer determination." His large eyes studied me. "You knew one of them. On the previous ship."
"Maya. We worked together. Different projects, but we collaborated sometimes."
"That explains her reaction when she saw you. She used your name even while delirious."
The guilt twisted deeper. "I should have searched harder."
"You didn't know where to search. The galaxy is vast, and escape pods drift unpredictably." Dr. Yar'thon returned to his work, efficient and practical. "The important thing is you found them now."
Now. After four months. After whatever horrors they'd endured that had carved those haunted expressions into their faces.
I sat with them for another hour, not speaking, just being present. Maya muttered occasionally in her sedation. Jacob, a quiet man who'd been a structural engineer, I vaguely recalled, remained completely unconscious. Tess woke twice more, each time briefly terrified until she remembered where she was.
Finally, Zor'go appeared in the medical bay doorway. His expression was carefully neutral, but his markings were subdued—that soft blue that meant concern.
"Repairs are proceeding," he said quietly. "Three more hours, possibly less. The raider patrol is still holding position at the field's edge."
"They're persistent."
"The beacon drew them just like it drew us. They're hoping for salvage. Or hostages." He moved closer, his voice lowering. "You don't need to stay here. Dr. Yar'thon has everything under control."
"I know."
"Then why?—"
"Because I feel like I should have found them sooner." The words came out harsh, angry at myself. "Because I've been on Mothership for six months, and I've been working on expansion projects and eating communal meals and going on space station dates while Maya was dying in an escape pod."
Zor'go was quiet for a long moment. Then: "Come with me."
"I shouldn't?—"
