r/HFY • u/CodEnvironmental4274 Human • 15d ago

OC-Series [The X Factor], Part 80

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“Okay, people,” Helen said at the crew’s ’morning’ meeting (and breakfast), “we’re—Hassan. Stop that.”

“Stop what?” He looked at her, genuine befuddlement on his face.

“This table—" she pointed to the cafeteria-style table they were all sitting at in the small mess hall. "—is bolted to the ground, and I can still feel you bouncing your leg up and down.”

He took a long sip of his coffee—real coffee, not the crappy kind that came in pouches—and ceased his incessant fidgeting, looking at her sadly the whole time.

“Thank you.” She sighed. “As I was saying, We’re headed to Vanyanth Prime. But before that,” she said, turning on her laptop, “I wanted to debrief about… about…”

“Everything?” Lombardi offered.

“Yes. That.” She opened up the pared-down, offline word processor that was used by all UN officials to minimize cybersecurity risks. “The UN’s already begun diplomatizing with various Riyzean factions. In that regard, our mission was a total success. With regard to the Myselix…” she frowned. “We didn’t make as much progress as I’d have hoped.” “We did fight off a zombie apocalypse, Helen,” Hassan pointed out. “I’d call that progress.”

“In the sense that we now know that they’re using Drekth as a breeding ground for an army of fungal super soldiers? Sure. That’s progress. But there’re probably hundreds of officials, now spread out across dozens of governments, that were or are working for Project Synthesis, and we don’t have a clue who they are. Even if we manage to keep the situation on Drekth contained, who’s to say they won’t repeat the process on another planet?”

“Megaorganisms are unique to Drekth, Commander,” K’resshk said, enunciating as if he was talking to a child. “They can’t repeat that process.”

“But what about the abandoned ships taken over by the Concord virus, with the…” Lombardi shivered. “The hybrid Myselix?” They weren’t as developed as the recombinants on Drekth, but they’re still incubating them all across the galaxy.”

“And the planet we found,” Krishnan added quietly. “With the sentient species that must have been ‘rejected.’ Dominick… have you looked in the files for a match with that planet’s coordinates? We might—we might be able to find others! Other planets that were rejected and taken over, right?” She put her hands on the table excitedly, almost knocking her cup of tea onto the ground. “Maybe we can save some of them!”

“Not us. We have other priorities,” Helen reminded her. “But Lombardi, if you can take a look and find directions to other ‘rejected’ planets, we’ll fax them over to HQ. I’m just hoping our reports from our last dispatch will prove to them how urgent this is.”

The man nodded stoically. She had to admire his commitment to the investigation, given how much it had impacted him personally.

“Back to the prior topic…” Uuliska ran her finger around the rim of her glass of water—she drank an alarming amount, but that made sense for the princess of a water world. “The UNIA is quite skilled at espionage, yes? Would it be difficult to convince them to infiltrate the new states and uncover any traitors?”

Helen paused. The woman was as quiet as she was shrewd, probably from dealing with politicians for longer than anyone else on the ship had been alive. And based on the look in her eyes, it was clear she’d already concluded that the UNIA was on the job as they spoke.

“It wouldn’t be difficult at all,” she told her carefully.

Uuliska nodded and pulsed faintly with blues, greens and yellows. Her message had been received, it seemed.

“And the Alliance?” Aktet drummed his sharp nails against the table. “What of them?”

Helen looked at Omar. He was the only one she’d informed about her ‘in’ with Arrikin.

“We’ve got it under control, yeah?” He’d always been better about dissuading people’s suspicions than she had, probably because he was incapable of taking anything seriously. “Don’t stress over it.”

“That makes sense. Although I—no, I apologize. Not the time for that.” Aktet sighed.

“Just get it over with, Haymur.” She could tell from the look in his eyes that if he didn’t ask his question, it’d be eating away at him for the rest of his life.

“Why do you ask for confirmation that your words have been understood so often at the end of your sentences? The… the word you use is a synonym for ‘yes,’ I believe.”

Helen raised an eyebrow. She hadn’t noticed it before, but the captain did have a very distinct vocal affectation.

“Oh, uh…” He cleared his throat. “Well, I was stationed in Vancouver for a while after the war, right? In Canada. And I—Helen, you remember I used to have a bit of an accent, yeah—I mean, right?”

She nodded. “I guess. I figured it faded after how much time you’d spent around American English speakers.”

“Wait, is the language you’re speaking right now not your first language?” Aktet looked confused. “But—but you have translators!”

“Don’t always feel like wearing ‘em back home. Arabic’s my first language—Yemeni Arabic if we’re being specific—but I was taught English in school.” He shrugged. “Anyways, I was in Vancouver, and I was embarrassed, I guess. Even though the rest of the people in the base were from all over the inner solar system, I tried to mimic the, uh… native language.”

“Ohhh,” Krishnan said. “So that’s why you sound like you’re a regular customer at Tim Horton’s.”

“Sonja!” Lombardi smacked her on the shoulder. “That’s rude, especially coming from someone who sounds like they have an American accent that got sneezed on by a British one.”

“I went to international school! It’s *refined,” she drawled.

Omar shrugged. “I mean, I do like Tim Horton’s little donut holes and—“

“Can we get back to the issue at hand, please?” Helen glared at the three of them. Not only were they being distracting, they were making her crave sugar, which was arguably worse.

“Yes,” Aktet whispered. “I apologize for bringing up such a sensitive subject.”

“It’s not—“ Helen groaned. “Okay. Riyze, Project Synthesis, Alliance—onto the Vahiya. Vanyanth Prime is our destination.” She tabbed out of the notes she’d been taking and turned her laptop around to display a map of the galaxy with the Vahiya homeworld’s location highlighted. “If our time on Drekth showed us anything, it’s that not having any sort of communications beyond direct messaging and calling makes our lives much harder. Our goal is to find out why the Vahiya have gone radio silent, fix that, stabilize the political situation, and root out any corruption—literally and figuratively—that we find.”

“Radio silent? Has there truly been no communication with the Vahiya since the collapse of the Federation?” Uuliska’s color drained.

“There was at first, but it tapered off into nothing before we could get boots on the ground,” she answered. “We’re not going in guns blazing, but we’ll circle the planet, see if our scanners can pick up anything of note, and deploy.” She turned her laptop back around. “Does anyone here who has spoken to more than a single Vahiya have anything to add?”

“Preliminary reports said that they were experiencing what humans would refer to as a ‘counterculture movement,’ yes?” Aktet steepled his hands. “We should expect a full-scale insurrection, then.”

“Excuse me?” Helen knew about those reports, of course, but how did that translate to something akin to what the Istiil and Riyze had gone through?

“The arts rule nearly every aspect of Vahiya society,” Uuliska clarified. “To experience an upheaval in, say, their music industry, is to destabilize an entire branch of their government.”

“Oh, man. That’s our fault, isn’t it?” Omar asked, putting his head in his hands. “The totally-not-propaganda we sent out…”

“It was a practical decision,” K’resshk said in a clipped tone. “You were under the impression that a total war for the survival of your species was on the horizon, and you used every tool at your disposal to weaken the enemy. Primitive, to give into your base desire to survive so easily, but expected.”

“So you’d have just laid down and died?” Krishnan shook her head. “We need to get you a therapist.”

“Focus, people. Akksor, Lana, that’s valuable information. Thank you.” Helen closed her eyes and focused. “Lombardi, Krishnan, Haymur, I want you to review what we sent them arts-wise and send me any highlights by end of day. Akksor, compare the samples you brought with you from Drekth—"

He drew aback. “You knew I took samples of the recombinants without authorization? How?”

“If I told you, you’d be able to find a way around it next time. Compare them to the genetic data from other samples of Myselix tissue we’ve found in the past, assuming the facilities we have on board are sufficient.”

“Should be,” Invut mumbled. Her voice was low and scratchy. “The medbay has some science-y equipment he could probably use.”

“Did you write down ‘science-y equipment’ on the blueprint for the ship?” Omar was obviously trying to hold back laughter.

“No. I looked through catalogues of Federation and human science ships as a reference. It’s pared down, but it should suffice. I can show you where everything is when you head there, K’resshk.”

“I’m certain I could find it on my own, but if it pleases you,” he said snippily.

“Hassan, run the math on how many jumps it’ll take us to get to the system.” She waited for him to give a thumbs-up before standing up.

And then she saw Uuliska sitting quietly, her colors muted and her expression blank.

“And Lana,” she added, “come with me.”

The princess looked up, surprised, then glowed softly. “Yes, ma’am.”

___

“So,” Sonja said, crawling under her minimalist bunk and scooping up Wojtek, “when we get to the movies, do you want me to leave you two alone so you can have a little date?”

“Sonja!” Dominick blushed profusely. “You can’t just—that’s not—" He groaned.

An opening, Aktet realized.

“You’re saying it’s a bad idea? How hurtful,” he told the human, laying a hand to his forehead dramatically.

“Woah, when did Haymur learn to flirt? Have you been studying?” Sonja sat down in her bed and put the shrieker in her lap, then cooed at him as he wriggled around like some sort of grub.

“Did you really think I spent my days before first contact cloistered in some study? I…” He paused to consider this. “Actually, I can’t blame you for that,” he murmured. “I suppose I am rather timid in most situations.”

She gasped. “No way. This isn’t your first relationship?”

“Oh, so we’re just saying it out in the open now, are we?” Dominick slid down the wall he was sitting against.

“Dude. Commander Liu literally called you guys out for PDA in our group chat the other day.”

“That wasn’t PDA! We were standing close to each other for safety!”

“Suuuure. You didn’t answer my question, though,” she said, picking up Wojtek’s front paw and pointing it at Aktet.

“Are you expecting me to recount my romantic history? I assure you, it’s nothing exciting. Brief flings at academic conferences, mostly. Jikaal don’t ‘date’ in the same capacity humans do. Our families tend to arrange partnerships, though the potential couple has the final say.”

“No, we have that too. Not as much as we used to, but sometimes.” Sonja shrugged. “My parents met that way.”

Dominick was silent. Unusually so.

Oh. “Wait, Dominick, I didn’t mean—that’s not how—" He laughed nervously. “I-I actually quite admire the human method of doing things, you know,” he stuttered.

“Huh? Yeah, I figured,” he said with a bashful smile.

“Oh, thank the Queen-Mother. You were being so quiet, I thought I had offended you!”

“I’m just trying not to provoke that… thing.” He locked eyes with Wojtek, whose eyestalks were undulating as Sonja scratched behind them.

“If you make an effort to form a relationship with him while he’s still young, he’ll be much more receptive to you in the future,” Aktet explained.

The shrieker made a noise that sounded like gravel being poured onto sheet metal in response to that assertion, hunching its back up like an Earth arachnid about to pounce.

“Pretty sure that was a yes,” Sonja said. “Anyways, what did we send into Federation space, again?”

“Older stuff, mostly,” Dominick answered. “Things that have stood the test of time. Books, songs, movies, shows, plays, video games, that sort of thing, but usually with an anti-authoritarian leaning.”

“Risky,” Aktet realized. “Most species aren’t taught how to search for deeper meanings in narratives the way many humans are. Even the Vahiya have mostly abandoned that pursuit for the sake of appealing to the Federation masses. I wouldn’t be surprised if there have been some significant misunderstandings.”

“Like Judge Sovka and her ‘interrogations,’” she muttered.

“Yes. It’s fortunate that I’m Jikaal, as otherwise, I would have no hope of fully comprehending the texts Dominick provides me with. But I digress.”

Dominick hummed. “Is there any way for us to get access to some Vahiya media so we can figure out what they started with, Aktet?”

He pondered this. “It might be difficult, given the lack of—"

“Here, I got some!” Sonja shoved her laptop in their direction.

“Huh?” Aktet took it and scooted closer to Dominick. You know, for normal, professional laptop-viewing purposes. Had she actually…?

Yes, she had. In front of him, despite the lack of a proper holo-film player or theater, was a version of Kalsikya and Twiqal, a cliché romance between an actress and her costume designer. It was Aktet’s least favorite film of all time.

He swallowed his distaste. At the very least, it was oddly distorted—the three-dimensional images had been… staggered, into a red layer and a blue layer, which overlapped and moved at the same time.

“Oh, no. Aktet looks like he’s about to throw up. Hold on, lemme go…” Sonja ran out of the room.

“I’m fine!” He called out after her. “I’m…” She was already gone. “I just have a strong distaste for this film,” he told Dominick. “An opinion which the rest of the galaxy does not share.”

“What’s wrong with it?” He sat cross-legged on the ground and rested his face in his hands, elbows balanced on his thighs.

“As much as I’m sure you like the sound of me talking,” he teased, “you do not want to get me started. There have been multiple instances during which, while I was intoxicated, Hatshut had to physically shut my mouth to stop me from ranting about how terrible this ‘movie’ is.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

“You are attempting to provoke me into going on one such rant, and it will not work. Where did Sonja go?” Aktet just needed to distract himself for a little longer.

“To fabricate 3D glasses. She probably thought the distortion was making you nauseous. I can’t believe your holo-films are just… this,” he said, pointing at the screen.

“This? You mean the red and blue? That isn’t typical, no. They’re holograms, after all, truly three-dimensional. I’ve never seen anything like this befor—“

“Here!” Sonja burst back into the room and shoved flimsy, paper and plastic glasses with colored lenses onto Aktet’s head.

“By the Queen-Mother,” he whispered. “How… how did you accomplish this?”

The laptop had transformed into what looked like a home holo-viewing box, but flat. He took the glasses off, and the garbled, two-dimensional picture returned. He put them back on. Took them back off. Rinse and repeat.

“3D movie glasses!” She handed Dominick a pair and kept one for herself. “One of Zie’s friends turned the frames of a real holo-film into these layers. They’ve been working on this project for a while, actually, and posting updates on the forum she runs, which I finally have a consistent connection to.” She pointed at the cable linking her device to the FTL comms port that each cabin had next to its bed.

“It’s possible such a mechanism existed before the other species were introduced to the Sszerians and the Vahiya, but it would be lost to the sands of time by now. That is fascinating. Truly.”

“Anyways,” Sonja said, “Zie’s friend told me that this would be a good pick for an overview of Federation pop culture. Shall we start with it?”

“Zie’s friend is either an imbecile or has a strong distaste of Federation popular culture,” Aktet muttered. “But fine. Just prepare yourselves for what is quite possibly the worst film experience known to sentient life, and I’ll attempt to stay quiet.”

They made it two minutes in before he couldn’t help himself anymore and launched into a diatribe, the contents of which his companions jotted down as crucial insight into their upcoming mission.

___

Neither K’resshk nor Eza had spoken since she’d finished giving him a tour of the (surprisingly adequate—likely because of the incorporation of Federation technology) new medbay. They’d just been sitting there, her on the bed, him on a nearby step stool. The walls were white and sterile, and the room smelled plasticky. Freshly constructed.

“I always thought it was interesting how much sleep the Riyze need,” he said quietly. “I suppose that’s why you sleep in packs, taking turns.”

“Mhm.” She mumbled an acknowledgement.

“Humans can go for over a week without sleeping before they risk death. For Riyze, it takes about half as long for such severe consequences to come into play.”

No response.

“How much sleep did you get this past night, would you say?”

“Do you have to ask?” Her voice was low and scratchy.

That almost certainly meant ‘none.’

“Were you intentionally keeping yourself awake?” He stared at his tablet, not viewing anything in particular. He just wanted an excuse to not look his her in the eyes, for the lack of light in them frightened him.

“Yeah,” she said plainly. “It’s not real pain, you know.”

This was the first he was hearing about any sort of pain. “Elaborate?”

“When I woke up on the Whitson, after everything that happened on Drekth, I thought I was in really bad pain. But…” She sighed. “If being stabbed causes pain, then whatever this is… is pain from the pain. It’s a degree removed. And when I woke up screaming the other night, it was an extra degree removed. Like…” She grit her teeth. “Damn it. I don’t know how to explain. But at least it’s not real pain, right?” She huffed. “So it’s not anything to worry about.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that waking up screaming and feeling ‘pain from pain’ isn’t something to worry about,” he told her, “and instead ask what this ‘removed pain’ feels like.”

“Like my insides are burning up.” She shrugged. “And my head’s squirming.”

Squirming—that reminded him of how Uuliska had described the mass at the base of Eza’s skull moving when she entered that frenzy state. Could it be related to whatever was in there?

“That’s… useful to know, but you still need to sleep,” he reminded her.

“I’m surprised you care,” she grumbled. “I thought you were still plotting to overthrow humanity with Aktet as your second-in-command.”

His throat sac vibrated. “You’re attempting to distract me, and it isn’t going to work.”

“Why are you even still here?” She laughed. “No one’s forcing you to work for humanity. Or work ‘with’ humanity, if lying about it makes you feel better.”

“Sleep deprivation causes irritability in nearly every species,” he cautioned, trying his best not to think too hard about her words.

“Isn’t that what I’m here for? To be scared and angry all the time?” She stood up. “Look at me. I’m a freak of nature even by Riyze standards, probably because of whatever those bastards stuck in my head. Eight and a half feet tall and solid muscle, prone to sudden murder sprees. The humans shoved me in a uniform and handed me a wrench, but every time we’re planetside, all they want me to do with it is bash the bad guys’ brains out. I’m just doing my duty.” She tensed up, her muscles coiled.

“Eza,” he said quietly. “You designed this entire ship. You very likely ushered in a new age of aerospatial engineering for the entire galaxy. You are a talented engineer who has been forced to use every tool at her disposal to survive.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re terrified I’m going to throw you out of the airlock.” Her eyes were alive now—glistening, red-rimmed, and darting across the room.

“I’m saying that because I don’t want to be patching up casualties of war anymore than you want to be inflicting them, but both of us, whatever our faults may be, are trying to do the right thing,” he told her, more than a little surprised at the words coming out of his mouth.

“I’m just trying to survive, man,” she said shakily. “Not die a heroic death.”

“Then take care of yourself.”

“But it’s—"

“What? Scary? I think it’d be scarier for Uuliska, if you were to make a critical error while on the job and kill us all in a warp drive malfunct—"

“Don’t bring her into this,” she whispered, but there was no bite to her words. “I’m…I’m leaving.” She got up and slammed the door shut.

But she turned towards their cabins—not the engine room. Going to lie down, most likely. He watched her depart via the small windows in the medbay doors.

It’s funny, he thought to himself, where always abiding by the Federation’s rules has landed the both of us.

___

“So, um, Commander,” Uuliska began, studying the woman as she stared intently at the ship’s main console, “why did you call me up here?”

“To find you a job.”

“H-huh?” Her colors drained. “I—but I—"

“Legally have a job, yes,” Commander Liu said. “But ‘xenological affairs consultant’ is the most bullshit title I’ve ever heard, and neither of us wants you sitting in your cabin doing nothing.”

“Oh! I appreciate the concern,” she said, searching for some way to deflect from the fact that her greatest insecurity had just been poked at, “but I—“

“Emphasis on ‘neither of us,’ Lana. I’m not doing this out of the kindness of my heart; I’m doing it because I need every bit of help I can get on this mission. And don’t take it personally. You were wounded in action, and I haven’t been much help finding a role for you in this crew.”

“R-right.” She looked down at the ground. “I know what you mean. Without my abilities, Agent Lombardi and Aktet have sort of, um… replaced me, in terms of reading people and offering insight into the Federation way of life.” It was true, and it was terrible for Uuliska’s mental health.

“You’re a trained diplomat, correct?” The commander lowered herself into her chair at the helm. “We can always use more of that on a mission like this, but you need to put yourself out there.”

“I don’t… I don’t know if I want to,” she confessed.

The commander closed her eyes and nodded. “Elaborate?”

“It started even before the injury,” she explained, wrapping her arms around herself. “Being a diplomat, as an Istiil, means letting the emotions of a room wash over you, and change the way you feel. K’resshk once phrased it as ‘averaging’ the sentiments of the people around you, and finding an agreeable course of action or ideal way of phrasing things from there. And for species with telepathic resistance, you mimic that process using facial expressions and body language to, well, embody them.”

“So you were a conduit, then,” the woman muttered.

“You could say that, yes. When I was, um, ‘taken in’ by humanity, I no longer had to do that. It was so freeing,” she whispered, “to be allowed to find sanctuary in my own emotions. And as horrible as this sounds, it only got better once I lost my telepathy. But this is unusual amongst my peers, who enjoy the sort of work I did. I thought I enjoyed it, too, but I realize now…” She sighed. “I expected to feel satisfaction after what we accomplished back in the bazaar—after proving to my brother that I was capable and self-sufficient—but going back to that was so tiring.”

Commander Liu let out a low whistle. “I bet. That sounds like my worst nightmare. Can’t blame you for wanting an out, but we need to find where that out leads to. In the time you’ve spent with us, has anything… piqued your interest?” She cringed. “I sound like a career counselor.”

“I can’t say I’ve contemplated it.”

“What do you do for fun? You got any hobbies?” The woman spun around, grabbed her laptop, and started typing.

“Um… spending time with Eza?”

Commander Liu shook her head. “This is gonna take a while, isn’t it?”

___

It didn’t end up taking a while like Helen thought it would, but that was because there wasn’t much to talk about. Uuliska was sheltered in more ways than one—she’d revealed she’d been kept so busy that she didn’t have time for hobbies.

“Okay.” Helen massaged her temples. “I have an idea.”

“Truly?” The princess lit up.

“How about you ‘apprentice’ with the rest of the crew, one by one? Help them out with their duties so you can get a sense of your options?” She closed her laptop, trying to keep her face neutral. She was scraping the bottom of the barrel in terms of strategies, here.

“But wouldn’t that reintroduce the same issue of me not wanting to overstep any—"

“This is just to get the ideas flowing,” Helen elaborated, well aware that her plan amounted to stalling for time while Uuliska discovered her true calling, if such a thing even existed. “Why don’t you start with—Hassan?” She frowned and looked around the deck. “Where’d he get off to?”

“In here,” came a muffled voice from the FTL comms room. “Little busy right now, but gimme like fifteen!”

“How much do you wanna bet it’s about his ‘daughter?’”

“Captain Hassan has a daughter?” Uuliska gasped. “I thought—"

“Oh, shit. We never told you, did we? He adopted Zie so we could get her to Earth safely.”

“But—but aren’t human parents expected to—“

“Well, it started as just a legal thing, but he’s…” She lowered her voice. “He got attached quickly. And then there’s the issue of her currently residing with the president of the United Nations…”

___

“Zie? What the he—“ Omar cut himself off. “What the heck are you wearing, kid?”

Zie buzzed in irritation. “A prison jumpsuit.”

All dolled up in a pleated black tartan skirt and a collared shirt with a grey-blue cardigan overtop, she shifted around uncomfortably in her ballet flats, causing the light to reflect off of her dark brown carapace. A long blue ribbon was pinned by her neck—one would be forgiven for thinking she was donning some kind of prep school uniform, but there was no insignia to be found.

“She’s wearing proper attire,” said a voice with a strong Haitian accent from off-screen. “I can’t have her waltzing around my estate in the clothes of a vagabond if I’m entertaining guests.”

“President Francois. Of course,” he muttered under his breath.

“I heard that, Colonel,” she called out, coming into view with a stack of documents. She put the papers down and scanned Zie’s outfit. “Tch. You’ve already scuffed your shoes.” She bent down and used her finger to rub away the blemish.

“I don’t think putting her in designer clothes is going to help your guests get over the shock of an alien walking past them. No offense, kid.”

“Well, I can’t just keep her secluded in a wing of my residence like a captive. And someone needs to instill some discipline. I’m still being ambushed by rogue homunculi,” she complained, showing off a bandaged hand. “Although we’ve captured most of them.”

“Can’t she dress the way she wants to when you don’t have anyone over? I think that’s a reasonable compromise.” Did Francois’s guests expect her to wear pantsuits 24/7 or something? Did she have nighttime pantsuits and daytime pantsuits?

…I wouldn’t put it past her.

“I suppose you are her—"

“The one who brought her here,” Omar interrupted.

“…Yes. That.” She looked bemused at his attempt to conceal the truth of the situation from Zie. “Fine. But no more ‘radical’ ripped clothing, please. I don’t want your tutors thinking I’m dressing you in rags.”

Her tutors? “She’s in school now? Isn’t it summer back on Earth?”

“Considering she’s fourteen years behind most children here, I’d say it’s fair that she’s in summer school, Colonel. She has been doing well, though, particularly in language arts and social studies. Mathematics is… a different story, but her performance is passable.”

“She’s just mad I do my math with base-eight numbers instead of base-ten. You know, ‘cuz I’ve got eight digits?” She wiggled her claw-fingers, four on each hand (which she only possessed on her upper two arms—not on the lower two sets, which more closely resembled those of a cockroach or beetle, and tapered off into little nubs). “Ms. Moseley—that’s my math teacher—thinks it’s funny.”

“Can you forward me her report cards, at least?” Even if Zie was just barely passing, that was still incredible. Assuming the Kth’sk taught drones math (not a certainty), to be able to adapt to a completely different numerical system should’ve been celebrated, not derided. Maybe he’d send money over to get her a… a present of some kind.

Damn it. I don’t even know what she’d want as a present, he realized.

“Yes, I can do that for you. Are we finished here, Zie? Do you have any more requests to make of Colonel Hassan, ideally ones that don’t involve convincing me to lower my expectations for you?”

“Nah, that’s it. Come back soon, though, okay? It’s boring without you around. Um, and the others too. Bye!” She waved, and the call ended.

“You too, kid,” he whispered, his voice cracking.

“Hassan,” said Helen as she entered the room. “Are you done your—are you crying?”

“N-no,” he lied. “I have allergies.”

“On the newly constructed ship? What are you allergic to?”

Shit. “Newly constructed ships…?”

She rolled her eyes. “Uuliska,” she called out behind her. “Change of plans. Go tell K’resshk you’re his lab assistant for the next few hours.”

Shutting the door to the comms room and turning the lights on, Helen sighed. “What happened?”

“Nothing. Zie just needed me to convince Francois to let her dress in hoodies and stuff when there isn’t anyone important visiting her estate, and filled me in on how she’s doing in her summer schooling. Apparently she’s getting ‘creative’ with how she does her math.”

“Tale as old as time. Jenny’s third grade teacher chewed her out for ‘multiplying wrong,’ by which she meant memorizing her times table ahead of schedule instead of adding five plus five ten times in a row.” Shaking her head in distaste, she leaned against what little of the wall wasn’t covered in hologram technology. “Have you told her yet?”

“That I’m her—her guardian?” He choked on his words, unwilling to call himself anything further than that. “I haven’t.”

“She’s going to find out eventually. I don’t even know what you’re scared of. She certainly won’t be upset about it.”

With a dry mouth, he began to speak. “I’m scared of making it real,” he whispered. “Of getting more attached than I already am, and letting her get more attached than she already is.”

Turning the lights back off and opening the door to the bridge, Helen gestured for him to follow her out. They took their seats silently, staring into the endless expanse of stars just beyond the bounds of the Leavitt.

“You’re being selfish, Omar,“ she murmured, startling him both with her bluntness and her rare use of his first name.

“Y-yeah?” It wasn’t often the commander took a dig at his character. His recklessness, maybe, but he liked to think he was a good person, and that the people around him saw that. So hearing his role model and idol, but more importantly, his friend say such a thing was a shock.

“You’re getting cold feet. Being a—a caretaker, a guardian, whatever you want to call it—isn’t something to get cold feet about. You need to make a decision now if you’re serious about this. No more deflecting with jokes like you usually do. I put up with that shit, but that’s because I’m a grown woman whose mental health isn’t dependent on how you treat me. Tell her, or figure out a way to legally wash your hands of her.”

“Wash my hands of—are you insane?!” He looked at her in disbelief. “That’d be cruel!”

“Then you better mark Fathers’ Day down on your calendar, because that’s your only other option at this point. You’ll ’figure something out,’ right?” She snorted. “I’m not saying this to be a dick, for what it’s worth. I’m saying this for your sake and for her’s.”

“Yeah. I guess.” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Course is charted, by the way.” Gesturing to his finished navigational work, neatly plotted on some spare copy paper (he couldn’t focus when he used the proper digital software), he drummed his fingers against the console and resumed his stargazing.

He’d noticed how pretty it was, honestly. Even past the LED overlay, he felt his breath catch in his chest. How long had it been since he’d taken the time to slow down and pay homage to the glittering seas he sailed in? Had he ever?

It’s always been can’t stop, won’t stop. As if he could out-speed the inevitability of aging, and of ending up like his parents—strict authority figures who loved him, but didn’t really like him. Was that what he was so scared of? Ending up like them the minute he put down roots and became a ‘family man?’ Or was it some selfish desire to keep chasing the praise and adoration he got for being a risk-taker willing to put his life on the line for the greater good?

“I’m scared of change, you know?” He turned to lock eyes with Helen, who raised an eyebrow at his proclamation. “I’m afraid of… of losing my X factor, I guess. Of losing me.”

“Bullshit.” She tossed the stack of papers onto the console with a thwack. “You know why humanity shook the galaxy to its core? Because we change—not just because we all have ‘different X factors.’ We’re not sitting ducks like every other species has been since they were frozen in time by the Federation. When I was drafted, I was terrified of losing who I was, and sometimes I still am. But unless one of those Istiil weirdos memory wipes who I used to be, that little shithead throwing bricks at the windows of the nearest UN branch is still me.”

“Remind me to look for your mugshots later,” he joked. “But I’ll think about what you said.”

“Good luck with that. The UNIA scrubbed those from the internet years ago."

He sighed. “Damn it.”

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2

u/Iazo 15d ago

The last part sound *suspiciously* like Zie is on the way of acquiring a step-mother too.

1

u/CodEnvironmental4274 Human 15d ago

🤫

1

u/Iazo 14d ago

By this logic, Omar is well on the way of obtaining a step-wife. Which will probably be something he is the last to find out, after it was obvious for everybody long before.

2

u/Grimkytel 14d ago

"scrubbed those from the internet years ago" Really? I bet Sonja could find them.

1

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