She did. I could see it in the way her breathing changed, the subtle shift in her posture. But instead of acknowledging it, she turned away, sealed her helmet, and moved toward the shuttle.
Running. Like she'd been running since I'd first met her six months ago.
I followed because that's what I did. What I'd apparently always do when it came to Elena Vasquez and her complete inability to accept protection.
The shuttle triptook eighteen minutes. I spent them reviewing mission parameters while monitoring Elena's vital signs through the team's shared sensor network. Her heart rate was elevated but steady. Breathing controlled. No signs of panic despite what we were approaching.
She sat across from me in the shuttle's cramped passenger bay, helmet on, lost in whatever thoughts drove her toward danger with such consistent determination. The other team members occupied themselves with final equipment checks or silent meditation, the usual pre-mission rituals.
Er'dox leaned close, voice low enough that only I could hear through our direct comm link. "She's holding together better than I expected."
"She's good at holding together." I watched Elena's gloved hands flex and release, flex and release, her nervous tell. "It's the falling apart later that concerns me."
"Then don't let her fall apart."
"That simple?"
"You're the one making it complicated." Er'dox's ice-blue eyes held that particular quality of ancient amusement he specialized in. "You care about her. She cares about you. Everything else is details."
"Details like the fact that she's human and I'm Zandovian? That she's half my size and I could accidentally hurt her just by existing too close? That she flinches every time I try to protect her because she's convinced she needs to prove something?"
"Yes. Details." Er'dox settled back against the shuttle wall. "Dana and I navigated the same details. So did Jalina and Zor'go. Bea and Zorn. If they can figure it out, so can you. Unless you're admitting you're less capable than a medical officer."
The challenge was deliberate. Effective.
"I'll figure it out," I said.
"Good. Because that woman is approximately thirty seconds from a complete emotional breakdown, and she needs someone who won't let her shatter alone."
I looked at Elena again. Saw what Er'dox had seen—the too-rigid posture, the controlled breathing that actually suppressed panic, the way her hands had stopped flexing and now just gripped her knees like she was physically holding herself together.
She was terrified.
And facing it anyway because that's what Elena did. Faced her fears through sheer determination and the absoluteconviction that her survival mattered less than completing the mission.
"Approaching derelict," the pilot announced. "Docking in three minutes."
Through the viewport, the pod cluster materialized from the debris field like a ghost solidifying. Twisted metal and scorched plating, emergency lights flickering in sections that still had power, the unmistakable geometry of Liberty's escape pod design warped by impact and vacuum exposure.
Elena stood. Moved to the viewport. Pressed one gloved hand against the transparisteel.
"I know this configuration," she whispered. Her voice carried through the comm system to everyone. "This is Section Seven. Engineering. My section."
The implications hit like tactical assessment. She wasn't just facing generic Liberty survivors. She was facing people she'd worked with. Lived with. People who'd been her colleagues and friends before the wormhole had scattered them across the wrong galaxy.
People who'd been dying alone while she'd been safe on Mothership.
I crossed to her. Placed my hand on her shoulder, carefully, aware of the size difference, the fragility. She didn't pull away. Didn't look at me. Just kept staring at the wreckage like it might disappear if she blinked.
"We'll bring them home," I said.
"What if there's no one left to bring?"
"Then we'll honor them. Document their survival. Make sure their families know they tried." I squeezed gently. "But ifthere's anyone alive in there, we'll find them. I promise you that."
She turned then, looked up at me through her helmet's faceplate. Her eyes were wet but her voice was steady. "That's a big promise."
"I don't make small ones."
