"Noted."
He left. Silence filled the office, broken only by the soft hum of the holoprojectors.
Jalina cleared her throat. "I should probably let you get to your other responsibilities."
"No," I said, surprising myself with the immediacy of the response. "The expansion projectismy primary responsibility now. Everything else is secondary."
"Even missing command briefings?"
"Especially missing command briefings." I pulled up the next section requiring attention. "Now, about the communal food preparation areas you suggested, the load-bearing calculations need adjustment to support that much foot traffic. Help me reconfigure the support beams without compromising the aesthetic flow."
She moved back to the table, picking up her charcoal stick.
And we worked.
By 1200, we'd completed preliminary designs for three of the twelve required neighborhood clusters. Jalina's hand cramped from sketching, I noticed, though she tried to hide it. Human physiology was so fragile, three hours of creative work and already their bodies protested.
"Take a break," I said. "Food, rest, whatever humans require for sustained productivity."
"What about you?" She flexed her fingers, trying to work out the stiffness. "When do you eat?"
"When the work permits."
"That's not healthy."
"I'm not human. My metabolic requirements are different."
"Different doesn't mean nonexistent." Jalina's expression turned stubborn, her jaw setting in a way that suggested she was preparing for an argument. "Even Zandovians need fuel."
"This feels suspiciously like concern for my wellbeing."
"It's concern for the project. If you collapse from exhaustion, we'll fall behind schedule." But the way her eyes wouldn't quite meet mine suggested the concern was more personal than professional.
That sensation in my chest returned, that tightness I couldn't adequately explain. I attributed it to appreciation for a dedicated colleague. Nothing more.
"Fine. We'll break for a midday meal. But we resume at 1300."
"1300," Jalina agreed. She gathered her notebook, careful not to smudge her recent sketches. "Same location?"
"Unless you'd prefer somewhere else."
"No, here is..." She trailed off, looking around my office with something like wonder. "Here is perfect. All the stars and space and possibilities. It's like working inside a dream."
The comment was pure sentiment, inefficient, emotional, artistically impractical. Yet I found myself pleased by her appreciation of my workspace. Found myself hoping she'd continue to see possibilities rather than just data.
"1300, Architect Chauncy," I repeated.
"Jalina," she said. "If we're co-leading this project, you should probably use my name."
"Jalina." Her name felt strange on my tongue, human phonemes, human rhythm. "I'm Zor'go."
"I know." A small smile curved her lips. "Everyone on Mothership knows Zor'go. The brilliant, obsessive city plannerwho never leaves his office and thinks in dimensions normal beings can't perceive."
"That's an exaggeration."
"Is it?" The smile widened. "Bea told me you once spent six days straight redesigning the medical sector's traffic flow because the corridor angles offended your sense of spatial harmony."
"They were creating unnecessary psychological stress through asymmetric sight lines. The redesign improved patient recovery rates by eight percent."
