Page 59 of Commander’s Mate

She stared at me.

“What?”

“Nothing. I’m waiting for that to explain this.”

“It explains everything.”

On Cherry Street, one wrong apartment number sent a pension check to the wrong building.

One missing suite number turned medication into a three-day scavenger hunt.

One bad forwarding address meant a birthday card crossed three states while an old woman called the post office every morning because it was the only card her grandson sent all year.

Names mattered.

Routes mattered.

Exceptions mattered.

People became furious when systems lost them because being lost by a system felt a little too much like being told you did not count.

I understood that better now than I ever had on Earth.

“Harper.”

I looked up.

Tovid—Tivid, I corrected myself; alien names were going to kill me before the slavers got another chance—stood in the doorway with a data tablet.

“The commander says you requested supply totals.”

“I did.”

“You requested them by person.”

“Yes.”

“Supply distributes by room.”

“Rooms don’t menstruate.”

Scarlet choked on a laugh.

Tivid blinked.

Nora covered her face.

I continued because someone had to.

“We need underclothes in actual sizes. Sanitary products for whatever species needs them. More privacy screens. Water access inside each room so people stop hoarding bottles. A way to flag food allergies or religious restrictions or whatever the alien equivalent is.”

“Dietary law.”

“Great. That.”

Tivid looked at the slates.

“You have created intake categories.”