Vaxon grunted, his typical contribution to conversations that didn't involve security protocols or tactical assessments. But even he looked more relaxed than usual, his charcoal-black skin reflecting the overhead lights, electric-blue tactical markings dim in non-combat mode.
"Dana's been working on the communication buoy," Er'dox said, his voice carrying that particular warmth he reserved for talking about his mate. "She's convinced she can adapt human transmission protocols to work with Zandovian systems. If she's right, we might be able to send signals back to the Milky Way."
"Ambitious," I observed, taking a careful bite of the protein synthesis they called dinner. It was nutritionally complete. It tasted like nothing in particular. I ate it anyway because bodies required fuel. "The distance is?—"
"Astronomical," Er'dox finished. "Literally. But she's not deterred. Says impossible just means that no one's figured it out yet."
Zor'go laughed. "Jalina says something similar about design problems. Human stubbornness is apparently a feature, not a flaw."
"Stubbornness," Vaxon rumbled. "Elena nearly electrocuted herself yesterday trying to rewire a power junction withoutproper safety protocols. I had to physically remove her from the conduit."
"How'd that go?" Zor'go asked with what might have been amusement.
"She called me seventeen variations of overprotective. In three languages." Vaxon's expression remained stoic, but something flickered in his cobalt-blue eyes. "Then thanked me. Then immediately argued with my assessment of proper electrical safety procedures."
I smiled despite the weight pressing on my chest. My friends had found their matches. Found beings who challenged them, completed them, made their lives richer than duty alone ever could.
I was happy for them. Genuinely.
The tightness in my chest wasn't jealousy. It was concern. Concern for a human woman who worked herself to exhaustion, who treated her body like an inconvenient machine that required minimal maintenance, who looked at me with those gray-blue eyes and saw only her supervisor.
"Zorn." Er'dox's voice cut through my thoughts. "You've been staring at your food for two minutes without eating."
I looked down. He was right. My utensil hovered over the plate, forgotten.
"Apologies. Distracted."
"By a certain human trauma surgeon?" Zor'go leaned forward, markings shimmering with interest. "You've been watching her for weeks. Everyone in medical has noticed."
"Professional observation," I said automatically. "She's a newaddition to my department. It's my responsibility to ensure proper integration."
"Integration." Vaxon's tone was flat. "That's what we're calling it."
Er'dox set his utensil down again. There it was, the gesture that meant uncomfortable truths were coming. "Dana is worried about Bea. Says she barely sleeps. Skips meals. Takes every available shift and requests more."
"Jalina tried to involve her in bonding ceremony planning," Zor'go added. "Bea declined. Said she was too busy. Jalina says she's been withdrawn since before the rescue. Months of barely connecting with anyone."
"Elena mentioned nightmares." Vaxon's delivery was matter-of-fact, but his markings pulsed once, a sign of rare emotion from the security chief. "Says Bea wakes screaming. Multiple times per night. Won't talk about it."
I set my own utensil down, appetite gone. "I'm aware of the pattern."
"And?" Er'dox pressed.
"And I'm monitoring the situation."
"Monitoring." Er'dox's expression hardened slightly. "You're monitoring while she destroys herself."
The words landed like physical blows. Because he was right. I'd been watching Bea Santos run herself into the ground for two months, telling myself that professional distance was appropriate, that she needed space to adjust, that my role was to observe and guide, not intervene.
But observation had revealed a truth I couldn't ignore: she wasn't adjusting. She was surviving. Barely.
"Her work performance is exemplary," I said quietly. "She's learned Zandovian medical protocols faster than any non-Zandovian I've trained. Her diagnostic skills are exceptional. Her surgical precision is remarkable. She's an asset to the medical bay."
"And as a person?" Zor'go asked gently. "How is she doing as a being who experienced severe trauma and has been displaced across galaxies?"
I didn't answer immediately. Couldn't, because the truth was uncomfortable. As her supervisor, I saw the brilliant physician. As the Chief Medical Officer responsible for crew wellness, I saw the concerning patterns. But as Zorn, just Zorn, not the title or the duty, I saw something else entirely.
I saw a woman who moved through the medical bay like a ghost haunting the scene of its own death. Who smiled professionally but never reached her eyes. Who helped others heal while her own wounds festered beneath rigid control.
