"She's reckless," I said.
"She's brilliant."
"She's going to get herself killed."
Er'dox's expression shifted into something that might have been amusement on anyone less controlled. "Dana said the same thing about me during the sabotage investigation.Claimed I worked too much, took unnecessary risks, treated my own wellbeing like an acceptable casualty of engineering excellence."
"Was she right?"
"Completely." He gestured toward the mat. "Again?"
We squared up. This time I focused properly, kept my mind on the present instead of spiraling through worst-case scenarios involving Elena and electrical systems. Er'dox came at me hard, but I was ready, blocked, deflected, found an opening and exploited it with the kind of precision that came from decades of combat training.
The sparring helped. Movement helped. The controlled violence of practice combat channeled everything I couldn't express into something productive.
"She doesn't sleep," I said during a brief rest interval. Water tasted metallic, the recycled tang every ship had regardless of filtration quality. "Doesn't eat in communal dining. Works dangerous assignments during off-hours when support staff is minimal. It's not brilliant. It's self-destruction."
"It's grief." Er'dox drank his own water, watching me with that analytical attention. "Every human on Mothership carries it differently. Dana channels hers into work. Jalina into design. Bea into healing others while ignoring herself. Elena…"
"Punishes herself."
"For surviving when others didn't. For taking up resources. For existing." Er'dox set his water aside. "Standard survivor's guilt manifesting through high-risk behavior. Textbook psychology."
I'd read the psychological profiles on all the Liberty survivors after their arrival. Knew their trauma histories, their coping mechanisms, their probability assessments for successful integration. Elena's file had been flagged for monitoring, high intelligence combined with low self-worth created problematic behavioral patterns.
But reading reports and watching someone actively trying to die through accumulated risk were different experiences entirely.
"I lost my unit," I said. Didn't talk about it often. Didn't see the point in dwelling on what couldn't be changed. "Seventeen warriors under my command. We were clearing a raider nest, routine operation, except intelligence was wrong. They had twice the firepower we expected."
Er'dox nodded. Knew the story already, everyone in command did. It was why I'd left the military for Mothership security. Why I chose protection over offense.
"I was the tactical lead. My decisions, my responsibility." The words came out flat. Factual. "I got eight out alive. Lost seventeen."
"And you've been trying to save those seventeen ever since." Er'dox's voice held understanding rather than judgment. "By protecting everyone else with the intensity you couldn't maintain for your unit."
"Is that what Dana says?"
"Dana says you treat crew safety like a personal mission. That you review security protocols compulsively, monitor risk assessments constantly, and personally investigate every potential threat regardless of how minor." He paused. "Shealso says it makes you exceptionally good at your job, even if it's exhausting to watch."
The assessment was fair. I'd built Mothership's security systems from the ground up, eliminated seventeen percent of preventable accidents through rigorous protocol enforcement, and maintained threat response times that exceeded military standards. Control what could be controlled. Minimize variables. Keep everyone alive.
Except Elena refused to be controlled.
"She threw wire at me yesterday," I said.
Er'dox's expression flickered toward actual amusement. "Elena?"
"Insulated wire. Small gauge. She claimed I waslooming ominouslynear her workspace and the wire was the most efficient method of communication." I'd caught it automatically, found her hazel eyes bright with challenge. "Then she explained the resistance properties of the wire composition for ten minutes. I think she forgot I was there."
"She does that. Gets absorbed in technical details." Er'dox selected training knives this time, and tossed me a pair. "Zor'go says it's how she processes stress, transforms anxiety into focus on systems she can understand and control."
We moved through knife work drills. Faster than staff work, requiring more precision. Er'dox was good with engineering translated to combat better than most people assumed. But I'd been training since childhood, and muscle memory carried me through combinations that would have overwhelmed someone less experienced.
"I don't want to control her," I said between strikes. "I wanther to stop trying to kill herself through accumulated negligence."
"Those might be the same thing from her perspective."
The observation hit harder than Er'dox's blade. Elena had snapped at me multiple times about my "overbearing security protocols" and "unnecessary supervision." Called me controlling, overprotective, unable to trust anyone's competence but my own.
