Page 16 of Nebula Hearts
Always focusing on the mission. I recognize the coping mechanism because I use the same one.
“Agreed,” I say. “And I need to research what happened to you. Figure out how to prevent another episode.”
Three hours later, I’m in the medical bay, surrounded by virtual documents and approximately twelve different cups of terrible instant coffee.
The xenobiology database has files on Zephyrian culture. Pre-Suppression practices. It’s not my field, but I’m enough of a scientist to figure out the basics.
At least, I hope so.
But the texts are fragmented. Badly translated. The details are vague.
Nothing concrete enough to work with.
I keep searching. Hours passing. My coffee gets cold. I drink it anyway.
The search yields scraps. Hints. Nothing definitive.
“Damn it,” I whisper. “There has to be something.”
My eyes burn from staring at the screen. My hands shake occasionally. Aftershock from the violence. Every time I close my eyes, I see Sarpi dying. See Tynrax covered in blood. See those glowing violet eyes that weren’t his anymore.
So I don’t close my eyes. I drink terrible coffee and I research.
The cargo bay is cooler than the rest of the ship. Temperature regulation trying to preserve perishable supplies. I had settled on the floor, my back against a supply crate, datapad in my lap. Reviewing the same fragmented texts for the dozenth time.
Nothing new appears. The information just isn’t there.
“So we know what’s wrong,” I say to the empty bay. “But I don’t know how to fix it.”
Footsteps in the corridor. Tynrax appears in the doorway, carrying two ration packs. He stops when he sees me on the floor.
“You need to eat.”
“I’m working.”
“You’ve been working for hours.” He walks over. Sits down next to me against the crate. Closer than necessary in the large bay. “Eat.”
I take the ration pack. Open it. Protein bar and dehydrated fruit. He opens his own, and we eat in silence for a moment.
The cargo bay hums quietly around us. Equipment secured for the mission. Supplies stacked in organized rows. Everything we need to fix the relay except a solution to the Tynrax problem.
“I found the problem,” I say finally. “The ruins amplify empathic abilities. Force them active. Your conditioning wasn’t designed to handle that level of input.”
“But no solution.”
“Just fragments about empathic anchoring. Partners who could regulate each other. But the texts don’t explain how.” I set down the half-eaten protein bar. “The relay is one kilometer from the ruins. Still within amplification range based on my earlier readings.”
“Distance might help. We could work from two kilometers out.”
“Maybe.” I pull my knees up, wrap my arms around them. “But I think the field is probably larger than we want it to be. And if you lose control while working on the relay...”
“Catastrophic equipment damage. Or injury. Or both.”
“Right.”
He’s quiet for a moment. Then: “So we try the distance approach and hope.”
“Hope is not a strategy.”
