A few shaky laughs break out. Idris smiles. Darius scoffs lightly. And I keep staring at Stan.
He presses on. “Look, I seriously get it. We’re all on edge. But the guy who found Sergio isnotthe bad guy here. The bad guy’s whoever actually did this.”
Idris nods, acknowledging the assist. “Thank you, Stan,” he says. “He’s right. We’ll share more information when we can do so responsibly. Until then, if any of you have concerns, or fears you can’t get a handle on, you come to me or a member of the medical staff we have on board.”
Those other staff members wave and walk around, checking on each subject—no, each person.
“They’ll stay by your side until we reach Egypt,” Idris adds. “It’s currently at a ratio of four people per extra pair of hands, so just make sure you’re always with someone.”
The crowd of people talk among themselves. Their voices sound less tense now.
I watch Idris as he addresses the group again while they ask more questions. He calls them all by their names. He smiles, even through the harshest questions. His posture’s authoritative without being harsh. His tone remains calm but never turns cold. And I see it now.
He’s doing what I can’t do as easily. He’s standing in front of a frightened crowd and soothing them.
My body, meanwhile, is still brewing like a storm.
I log the contrast.
By the time Idris starts to close the meeting, my muscles ache from holding so still.
“We’ll keep you updated,” he speaks to the crowd. “For now, eat, hydrate, and check in on each other. If you see or feel anything that worries you, come to us. No judgment.”
Chairs scrape. The room’s volume rises again, with people breaking into smaller clusters.
Idris turns to me. “Em,” he says with a smile, “you did well.”
It takes me a few seconds to realize he’s referring to the one short segment I spoke, while he handled everything else expertly.
I bow my head. “Thank you,” I say. “You did much more.”
He studies my face. I can tell he’s looking for signs. Pupil dilation. Breathing rate. Muscle tension in my neck.
I keep everything as neutral as I can.
“We can talk in the MedBay,” he says. “After this.”
I answer with a nod. He looks like he wants to say more. But Darius approaches before he can.
“Father will want a summary of this gathering,” Darius says. “I’ll handle the structural points. Em, if you can send him your preliminary decision tree on dose suspension…”
Decision tree. That’s concrete. Contained. A task. I latch onto it. “I’ll draft it now,” I say.
Darius walks off after. Idris hesitates, spares me another smile, then follows after his older brother.
As they move, I stay where I stand for a moment longer, tablet against my beating chest.
When I see Nil and Stan walk toward my direction, I rush out of the mess hall, determined to get to work and not get distracted.
***
Time’s typically easier to track when I focus on tasks. That has always been reliable. Right now, it isn’t.
I’m seated at my workstation in the MedBay, tablet open to a blank decision tree. It should be simple. The variables are already defined. The data points are plainly obvious. The pattern recognition requires low effort.
Yet I can’t continue.
My hand hovers over the screen, motionless. I outline the first branch in my mind, but the shape of it keeps collapsing. My thoughts refuse to organize. Even the sounds of air hissing through the vents, and the droning motion of the ship feel like more competing inputs.
