"Dana's staying too," Er'dox added. "She said Earth stopped being home the moment the Liberty launched. This is home now."
I looked at Vaxon. He shrugged. "Elena hasn't decided. Probably won't until it's an actual choice instead of a hypothetical."
And Bea? What would Bea choose?
I realized I had no idea. Had never discussed it with her because our conversations remained rigidly professional except for that one moment of breakdown. She'd mentioned Earth in passing, her medical training, her career, the losses that drove her to join the Liberty expedition. But never with longing. Never with the homesickness that still occasionally overtook Jalina or Dana.
Bea didn't seem homesick for Earth.
She seemed homesick for nothing. Or for something she'd never found anywhere.
"Enough philosophy," Er'dox said, breaking the contemplative silence. "We came here to spar, not have feelings about theoretical communication buoys. Vaxon, you and Zor'go. Let's see how strategy fares against brute force."
They took their positions on the mats. I moved to the sideline with Er'dox, grateful for the opportunity to observe rather than participate. My ribs needed the break.
We watched Vaxon and Zor'go circle each other. The Security Chief moved like controlled violence. The Operations Head moved like geometric precision. When they engaged, it was mathematics versus warfare, and for once, mathematics held its own.
"You're good for her, you know," Er'dox said quietly.
I glanced at him. "Bea?"
"Who else? You see past her armor to the person underneath. That's rare. Most beings accept the surface presentation and move on. You care enough to push past it."
"She doesn't appreciate the pushing."
"She will. Eventually." Er'dox watched the sparring match with the critical eye of someone analyzing structural stress points. "Dana didn't appreciate it either. Told me I was controlling, overbearing, treating her like incompetent cargo. Then one day she looked at me and said,Thank you for not letting me destroy myself. That's when I knew."
"Knew what?"
"That she loved me. Because love is seeing someone at their worst and choosing them anyway." Er'dox's expression softened with memory. "Bea's at her worst right now. If you can choose her anyway, if you can maintain patience while she fights her way through her own defenses, she'll eventually realize you're not trying to control her. You're trying to save her from herself."
The wisdom was sound. The waiting would be hell.
On the sparring mats, Vaxon finally landed a strike that sent Zor'go sprawling. The Operations Head stayed down for amoment, then laughed, rare from him, and accepted Vaxon's hand up.
My comm chimed. Medical emergency designation. I checked the display.
Mothership responding to distress call. Ship collision in Sector 47. Multiple casualties. All medical personnel report immediately.
"I have to go," I said.
Er'dox nodded. "We'll finish another time."
I was already moving toward the exit, my mind shifting from personal complications to professional necessity. Ship collision meant trauma cases. Decompression injuries. Possible radiation exposure if the collision had breached reactor shielding. The kind of emergency that required all hands and perfect coordination.
The kind of emergency where Bea's skills would be essential.
Which meant working beside her again. Close quarters. High stress. The professional synchronicity we'd developed over two months of collaboration, now complicated by three days of her avoiding me completely.
I reached the medical bay in under four minutes. The space was already transforming, beds being prepared, equipment being staged, support staff coordinating with quiet efficiency. Pel'vix, my head nurse, moved through the organized chaos with practiced competence.
And there, at the central diagnostic station, was Bea.
She'd arrived before me. Of course she had. The woman who avoided rest never avoided work.
Her pale blonde hair was pulled back in its severe bun. She wore her medical uniform with the same precision she brought to everything, not a wrinkle, not a thread out of place. But her hands moved rapidly across the holographic displays, pulling up trauma protocols, cross-referencing xenobiology databases for the species involved in the collision.
She looked up as I approached. Those gray-blue eyes met mine for the first time in three days.
