When he was hooked into the primary AI, a twenty four light year waveride would have taken two minutes or so for Alex to plot. That was including the time he wasted gawking at anything remotely interesting nearby. He had gone through a lot of very intensive training to make sure he could work with the machine, allowing them to work in concert better. Ultimately, the AI was a tool that co-opted his practiced skills and knowledge and cranked the speed he could use them at up a thousand times.
His Amp was long gone, he’d need another intracranial surgery to get that replaced.
If he had a Navigation console, the work would have also been largely automated. Yes, he would not spend much time checking out the local stellar neighborhood, but it also meant that the meat coprocessor wasn’t available. With a Nav console, pretty much anyone could do it. Not as refined or as fast as someone with a trained eye and a multi-terabit machine connection, but it would get them from point A to point B. Eventually.
Right now his Navigation console was shattered and covered in a fine layer of enriched uranium.
With all his good tools for doing this sort of work gone, Alex was left with the most distasteful option: an array of tablets spread out on the mess hall’s dining table. He took another pull of caramel mocha from a squeeze bottle, the flavor of the original coffee all but hidden in the single most caffeine and sugar heavy beverage the dispenser would produce. He’d been avoiding both of those for most of the mission so far and it felt like a hummingbird had replaced his heart after just half the serving.
He rested his head in his hands and went back to calculating the gravimetric flex-delay span of a slingshot maneuver around the local star with old charts and passive videos. Using only his brain and an astrogation calculator app. Real classical skills, but they were the skills all pilots started their training with, the foundation that allowed them to excel at FTL navigation with faster systems. Alex had faith in his abilities.
It was mostly just a matter of determining how close he could get to the star. Running under less than optimal conditions complicated it significantly. Hit the sweet spot and you could double the speed without any further energy expenditure. Bring it in too much and the safeties would kick over and prevent you from running it at all. A little further out and the ride would be fine. It would just take longer because you didn’t pick up as much velocity. If you went out far enough, you were just making a turn.
Alex grimaced down at what looked suspiciously like a slide rule as he tapped the screen, adjusting the angle of exit. The door to the mess slid open behind him and he turned around on the bench, knowing perfectly well who it would be. Not a lot of options on the ship. At least he had some potentially good news to share.
He was immediately struck by how intense she looked. Eyes bloodshot around bright blue irises, and when she spoke the words came out strained. “Did you mean it?”
“Huh?”
She covered the distance between them as she spoke, her voice rising in strength as she closed on him until they were face to face. “In the engine room this morning. Did you mean it? You are not being insincere, this is not a deceit?”
Alex leaned back against the table, suddenly boxed in between it and Carbon. “I translated what you said when you woke me up. I absolutely mean it, I’m not going to abandon you. You won't be left alone out here.”
She placed her hands on his shoulders, almost nose-to-nose now, focused so intently on him she was practically vibrating. “You do not say these things to ingratiate yourself?”
This entire line of questioning was really fucking weird, almost as weird as her sudden disinterest in personal space. The thing that stuck out the most was finding she smelled faintly of cinnamon - or something like it. “No, of course not. I meant what I said. Despite the rough start, we’re a team.” That’s the whole thing on a scoutship. Two people in a can out in the black required teamwork. “Maybe not in the way you’re used to, or the way I’m used to. But I won’t desert my engineer. I won’t leave you out here.”
Carbon searched his eyes for a few seconds, lips pulled tight and quivering a moment before she wrapped her arms around his ribcage and hid her face in his chest, sobbing silently. Her arms had always looked thin, but the death grip on his torso demonstrated she was far stronger than Alex had expected her to be.
“Uh.” He patted her on the back, delicately, avoiding the antenna resting low on her shoulders. “You want to talk about it?”
“No.” A ragged breath drawn in as she calmed herself down. “But I must. I did not expect that being shown compassion would be so distressing. This is not a reasonable response, I cannot let it go without considering why.”
Stolen story; please report.
“I’m going out on a limb here and guessing you’re not used to that?”
“No. Not without duty attached to it.” Carbon sniffed, not looking up or even relaxing her grip on his chest. “There is... little room for it as a Lan. I was appreciated, respected because I could carry the weight of others. That will strengthen walls for some time. It will not reduce the load upon them.”
That felt like a metaphor, and he mostly got it. Without thinking he asked, “Well, what about your family?” Just casually, like a third of her race hadn’t been wiped out two years ago.
Carbon inhaled again, a short choked sob following before a bout of silence. “Most of them are dead.”
“Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t-”
“I have not spoken to anyone about it. You could not have known.” She let out a rough sigh and relaxed her grip on him, a guilty glance up at as she slipped around him and sat at the other side of the table. “I have not spoken too much, for too long.”
“I’m sorry I caused you so much distress.” He swiveled around on the seat and stacked his array of tablets to the side. “It really wasn’t my intent.”
“I believe you. I am starting to think you do not conceal your intent like a Tsla’o would.” She sighed and rubbed her eyes. “This should not surprise me but it does.”
Alex shrugged. “I try to keep things straightforward.”
“That is good. I appreciate it.” She looked down at her hands and worried her fingers together, taking a deep breath before continuing. “May I speak to you about something in confidence, Alex?”
“Yeah, sure.” He was a little bit startled by that question, never really considering himself a secrets kind of guy. People had told him things that were secret before, sure, but that was just little stuff like having a crush on someone, or cheating leg day. Her demeanor said it was far more serious than that. “Is this a take it to the grave kind of thing?”
She thought about it, fingertips pressed together. “No, no crime has been committed, no state secrets given away. It is just personal, and I would prefer you not discuss it with anyone. If you forgot it, I would not blame you. I just- I cannot keep this in me anymore, and speaking it to no one does not help.”
He tipped his head to her, what he’d begun to interpret as an affirmative in Tsla’o body language. “I can do that.”
“I have not grieved my dead. My father and my aunt and they are the only family I have left alive now. I still love them, as family, though they make it difficult. So often disingenuous, self centered... I have not liked them for some time.” Carbon rested her head in her hands and let out a plaintive sigh. “I only pursued becoming a Lan because I believed that it would give me the ability to outrun them. The level of prestige it would offer would give me control beyond their grasp.”
“Did it work?”
She shrugged. “Perhaps. Though it did not offer me the freedom I expected, and now I find myself ready to give it up. I do not believe I want to be a Lan anymore. Once we return, I do not know if I will be willing to take up the mantle again.”
“That’s pretty heavy, I can see why you’d bottle it up rather than talk about it. Lan takes awhile to achieve, right? Not a lot of people walking away from it?”
“A decade, and we are in constant demand. I suspect it would not be so bad if I had more experience before the disaster to fall back on, or mentors that still lived. But there is none, and I fear I am slipping into habits that are...” She studied him from across the table, searching for the right word. “Harmful. For myself and the crew I must oversee.”
They had previously had one conversation about the duties of a Lan and Alex was still unsure as to how it all worked, but there seemed to be a strong mental health component. “Burning yourself up so others can live unaffected?”
She nodded and sighed. “Yes, if I take your meaning correctly. It is what I did on my first charge. What else could I do? Normally a tragedy might affect a few people at once, and you can distribute this hurt out through the crew with no effect on morale, on an individual's well being. But who has not been touched by the disaster on Schon?”
His suspicions about how deep that trauma went all but confirmed, Alex blanched at his bottle of coffee before taking another drink. Billions had died, billions more still left trapped on the planet. The Tsla’o were, as a race, gravely wounded. “So you reversed the polarity? Ate everyone’s pain instead of trying to work out how to distribute it?”
“That is what I did. I do not regret giving my crew that relief, even if it has nearly brought me to ruin. It was easy to do at first, the urge to ensure my ship and crew were safe and functional was strong and I could ignore my own needs quite easily.” Carbon folded her arms on the table and rested her chin on them, staring through Alex’s chest. “I did it until they transferred me to this project. It was strange, being alone. Easier at first. We have seen how it has ended.”
“I think I’ve said this before, but it’s an unprecedented situation you've found yourself in.”
“It is. Which is why I was chosen. They thought I was strong, but all I have been doing is running. Making myself unavailable under any circumstances. Initially just to avoid them, yes, but it rapidly became an unwillingness to allow anyone in.” Carbon trailed off and sighed, her eyes closed and her shoulders slack. “Thank you for saying what you have, and allowing me to speak in return. I have not felt so unburdened in years.”