Maybe she wasn't entirely wrong.
"I pulled her maintenance schedule," I admitted. Probably shouldn't have. Definitely overstepped my authority. "She's logged 127 hours in the past eight days. That's nineteen percent beyond recommended limits for her role."
"Dana would call that 'dedication.'"
"Dana works with proper support teams and takes mandated rest periods." I blocked Er'dox's strike, countered with a combination that forced him back. "Elena works alone, skips meals, and hasn't filed for a rest cycle in six weeks."
"Have you discussed this with her directly?"
"She tells me she's fine. Then continues the exact same behavioral patterns." Frustration bled into my movements, made them sharper. "She's brilliant with electrical systems in ways I can't begin to understand, but she treats her own wellbeing like an acceptable loss in pursuit of perfect functionality."
"Sounds familiar."
I shot Er'dox a look. He met it calmly.
"You work sixteen-hour days minimum," he said. "Review every security report personally rather than delegating. Conduct random safety inspections at all hours. When do you rest, Vaxon?"
"When threats are neutralized."
"Which is never. There are always threats." Er'dox disengaged, set his knives aside. "Maybe Elena recognizes a kindred spirit. Someone else who uses work to avoid addressing the things that actually hurt."
The analysis was uncomfortable because it was accurate. I'd spent six years building Mothership's security into something unbreakable specifically so I wouldn't have time to think about the seventeen warriors I'd failed. Elena had spent six months rewiring Mothership's electrical systems with the same desperate intensity.
We weren't that different. Except I had protocols, training, command authority. She had brilliance and self-destruction and nobody made her stop.
"You care about her," Er'dox said. Not a question.
I didn't answer immediately. Caring complicated everything. Made objective security assessments difficult. Created vulnerabilities that could be exploited. Made me check power conduit maintenance schedules at 0200 hours when I should have been reviewing tactical reports.
"Her intelligence fascinates me," I said finally. "When she explains her work, she transforms. Becomes animated, expressive, completely absorbed. I've watched her solve problems in minutes that would take engineering teams days. She has instincts for electrical systems that border on precognitive."
"That's professional admiration."
"She's also…" I searched for adequate words. Failed. "Small. Fragile. Moves like she's made of nervous energy and determination. I could break her accidentally just by existing too close. But she climbs into power conduits that could kill her without hesitation. Faces danger I would avoid through proper planning with nothing but confidence and insulated gloves."
"That's attraction mixed with terror."
"It's complicated."
"That's putting it mildly." Er'dox moved toward the gymnasium exit. "Talk to her. Directly. Not about work schedules or safety protocols. About why she's doing this to herself."
"She won't listen."
"Probably not. But you'll have tried." He paused at the doorway. "And when she inevitably does something catastrophically dangerous, you'll be there to catch her. Because that's what you do."
The prediction felt inevitable. I'd been tracking Elena's escalating risk-taking for months. Each assignment slightly more dangerous than the last. Each solo operation taking her further from backup support. Each decision prioritizing ship functionality over personal safety.
Eventually the pattern would intersect with actual disaster.
My job was ensuring I was there when it did.
I showered quickly, military efficiency never quite faded, and headed for my office. The security center hummed with activity even at 0430 hours. Mothership never slept, which meant security never slept either.
"Commander." My second, Tor'kesh, looked up from his console. "Morning patrol reports are compiled. Two minor incidents in the entertainment sector, both resolved. One equipment malfunction in cargo bay seven, maintenance is handling it. And…"
His hesitation was unusual. Tor'kesh reported facts without emotional coloring.
"And?" I prompted.
