"You might."
"Then be careful." Her hands found my uniform fasteners, pulling with determination. "But don't be too careful."
The logistics should have been impossible. Zandovian and human physiology weren't designed for compatibility. But Jalina was brilliant at spatial problem-solving, and I'd spent my entire career optimizing complex systems.
We figured it out.
I took her against the support beam first, standing, her legs wrapped around my hips, my hands supporting her weight while she moved against me with breathless abandon. Then later, on my uniform jacket spread across the floor, slow and reverent, mapping every sound she made like I was memorizing a blueprint.
She was so small beneath me. So warm. So perfectly responsive to every touch.
"I love you," she gasped. Not once but repeatedly, like the words were essential communication. "I love you, I love you?—"
"I love you," I answered, my voice breaking on the admission. "Always. Whatever comes."
Afterward, we lay tangled together in the empty space that would become our memorial garden. Jalina's head rested on my chest, her breathing slowly evening out. My markings still flickered with residual sensation, the crystalline patterns shimmering across silver-gray skin.
"We should probably put our clothes back on before construction crews arrive," Jalina said drowsily.
"They don't start for another four hours."
"Four hours. We could do this again."
"Several times, potentially."
She laughed, the sound muffled against my skin. Then quieter: "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For understanding. For not forcing me to choose between honoring my past and building my future." She tilted her head to look up at me. "For volunteering for a suicide mission."
"It wasn't suicide. Vaxon's risk assessment calculated seventy-three percent survival probability."
"That's a suicide mission by Zandovian standards."
"By human standards it's apparently Tuesday."
She laughed again, and I felt the vibration through my entire body. This, having her here, warm and happy and mine, felt more right than any structure I'd ever designed. More perfect than any optimization calculation.
Home wasn't a place. Wasn't even a ship traveling through impossible distances. Home was this: Jalina Chauncy in my arms, sketching futures I couldn't visualize alone.
My comm unit chimed. I considered ignoring it, but Jalina was already reaching for her scattered clothes.
"Answer it," she said. "Could be important."
I pulled up the display. Captain Tor'van's face appeared, his expression grim.
"Zor'go. Report to the bridge immediately. We've detected another Liberty signal, this one's different. Stronger. And it's coming from inside the Mothership."
Epilogue
Jalina
The memorial garden existed in a space that shouldn't work.
Mathematically, according to every structural principle Zor'go had explained to me over the past nine months, the expansion section's center court was designed for traffic flow, a convergence point where three major corridors met, optimized for efficient crew movement between habitation clusters and communal facilities.
But I'd convinced him that efficiency wasn't everything. That beings needed places to pause, to breathe, to remember.
