Right. Professional distance. That's what we were doing now.
"Engineer Vasquez," Captain Tor'van's voice filled the space with the kind of authority that made you stand straighter without realizing it. "Your report indicates you've identified potential Liberty survivors."
"Yes, sir." I moved to the presentation display, pulled up my data. My fingers found the familiar rhythm of the interface, at least here, with technology, I knew what I was doing. "Six days ago, I detected faint power signatures consistent with Liberty's emergency systems. I've been conducting enhanced scans to verify the source."
Vaxon's markings flickered. Just once, but I caught it. He'd noticed the timeline. Six days of scanning without reporting. Six days of operating outside official channels.
I pushed forward before he could interrupt. "Initial readings were inconclusive, but enhanced analysis confirms a cluster of Liberty escape pods at these coordinates." The debris field appeared on the main viewscreen, a tangle of metal and ice and broken dreams. "Structural scans indicate heavy damage, but three compartments are maintaining active life support."
"Enhanced analysis using what sensors?" Vaxon's voice cut through the room like a blade.
There it was. The question I'd been dreading.
I met his eyes across the table. "Long-range array. Full spectrum analysis."
"That array is restricted to senior Operations staff and Security." His tone was carefully neutral, but his markings pulsed with something that might have been anger or might have been concern. With Zandovians, the emotional displays were subtle. "Authorization codes?"
"I accessed the system using... alternative protocols."
"You hacked into restricted sensors." Not a question. A statement.
"I needed better data to confirm the findings. Lives are potentially at stake, Commander."
"And proper authorization procedures exist for exactly this situation. You could have requested official sensor time through appropriate channels."
"Which would've taken days to process. Days those survivors might not have."
The conference room fell silent. Captain Tor'van's cybernetic eye whirred softly as it focused on me, processing implications. Er'dox looked like he wanted to say something but washolding back. Zor'go had gone very still, his crystalline markings barely flickering.
"The Engineer makes a valid point about time sensitivity," Er'dox said finally. "If there are survivors?—"
"If there are survivors, they've been there for six months already," Vaxon interrupted. His eyes never left mine. "A few more days wouldn't have made a difference. But unauthorized system access violates security protocols. Protocols that exist to protect this ship and everyone on it."
"I was protecting people too," I shot back. "People who might be dying while we debate proper authorization channels."
"You were breaking regulations. There's a difference."
"Is there? Because from where I'm standing, following every rule perfectly while people die doesn't seem very protective."
His markings pulsed brighter, the blue tactical lines almost glowing. I'd struck a nerve, probably the one connected to his lost unit, to all those people he couldn't save. But I couldn't back down now. Not when Will might be out there. Not when I finally had proof.
"Enough." Captain Tor'van's voice cut through the tension like a plasma cutter through hull plating. "Vasquez, your methods were inappropriate. We'll address that separately. For now—" he gestured at the viewscreen, at the debris field hanging in space like a graveyard "—tell me about the survivors."
I took a breath. Forced myself to focus on the data instead of Vaxon's disapproval radiating across the table like heat from a reactor core.
"Three compartments with active power, indicating functional life support. Power distribution system shows signs of sophisticated engineering, someone cannibalized non-essential pods to maintain critical systems. There's also a distress beacon broadcasting on frequencies specific to Liberty's Section Seven emergency protocols."
"Section Seven." Er'dox leaned forward. "That was your section."
"Yes, sir. Which means I know those protocols. I helped write some of them." I pulled up the beacon analysis. "The signal pattern matches training protocols developed by Will Peters, one of Section Seven's senior engineers. If he's alive, if he's the one maintaining these systems, we're talking about someone with the skills to keep people alive for extended periods under catastrophic conditions."
Captain Tor'van studied the data, his expression unreadable. "The location is in the Dead Zone. Contested space. Three factions claim territorial rights, none of them friendly to Mothership operations."
"I'm aware of the territorial complications, sir."
"Raiders use those debris fields as hunting grounds. Any ship we send would be vulnerable."
"Yes, sir."
