"Electrical systems filed a priority maintenance alert for Sector Nine power grid. The report was submitted by Elena Vasquez at 0237 hours."
Something cold settled in my chest. "What kind of alert?"
"Potential cascade failure in the primary distribution node. She's requesting authorization for emergency repairs during active operations." Tor'kesh pulled up the report. "Standard protocol would be to shut down the sector grid during maintenance, but she's proposing to work live systems."
Of course she was.
I read the report twice. Elena's technical assessment was flawless, she'd identified a degradation pattern that monitoring systems had missed, projected failure probability at seventy-three percent within the next forty-eight hours, and outlined a repair procedure that minimized downtime at the cost of significant personal risk.
The repair made sense. The methodology was sound. The danger was unacceptable.
"Deny authorization," I said.
Tor'kesh's expression didn't change. "She anticipated that response. Included an addendum noting that sectorshutdown would disrupt operations for 4,000 crew members across twelve departments, while her proposed live repair affects only her personal safety."
Clever. Make it about crew welfare versus individual risk, knowing I'd have to weigh the broader impact against protecting one engineer who didn't want protection.
"Schedule me for the repair," I said. "If she's working live systems, she needs backup."
"Commander, with respect, you're not trained for electrical maintenance."
"I can follow safety protocols and call for emergency response if something goes wrong." I pulled up my schedule, cleared the next two hours. "Approve the repair with the condition that she has security supervision. File it as crew safety oversight."
"She's not going to be happy."
"She rarely is. Send the authorization."
I made it to the Sector Nine maintenance access at 0515 hours. Found Elena already there, surrounded by diagnostic equipment and enough tools to rebuild the entire power grid from scratch. She looked up when I arrived, and her expression cycled through surprise, irritation, and resignation in under three seconds.
"Let me guess," she said. "Mandatory security supervision for dangerous operations."
"Standard protocol."
"Standard protocol would be sector shutdown. This is you being overprotective." She turned back to her equipment, but her hands moved just slightly too fast, nervous energybetraying the frustration she tried to hide. "I don't need backup. I've done this repair sequence dozens of times."
"Never on a live system of this complexity."
"There's always a first time."
"Not alone." I moved closer, careful not to crowd her workspace. At eight feet eight inches, I was nearly four feet taller than her compact five-two frame. Proximity required calculated distance to avoid overwhelming her physically. "Walk me through the procedure. If I understand what you're doing, I can provide meaningful support instead of just watching."
She looked up at me, hazel eyes sharp with assessment. "You actually want to learn?"
"I'm responsible for electrical systems security. Understanding their functionality improves my ability to protect them." True enough. "And you."
The addition made her jaw tighten. "I don't need protection."
"Everyone needs protection. Even brilliant engineers who think they're invincible."
"I don't think I'm invincible. I think the ship's functionality is more important than my personal comfort."
"Your personal safety," I corrected. "Not comfort. Safety."
"Same thing."
"It's not." I crouched, still taller than her standing, but less intimidating from a lower angle. "Elena. Help me understand why you take these risks."
Her hands stilled on the equipment. For a moment I thought she might actually answer honestly. Then herexpression closed, became the professional mask she wore like armor.
