The control room was quieter now, the chaos trailing out with the last of the crew.
Only the hum of the systems and the faint buzz of residual adrenaline lingered, and even that felt like it was fading. Zedd stayed where he was, eyes scanning the auxiliary readouts one last time. The numbers held steady, the jagged spikes and dips from earlier smoothed into calm, even patterns.
Nothing flickering, nothing red. It was good. Solid.
Better than he expected.
He pressed his palms into the edge of the console, the metal cool against his skin. His body ached, muscles tense and tired, but his brain wouldn’t quit. Every moment of the last few hours ran laps in his head—the wires, the sparks, how his hands had moved without him even thinking.
Maybe... dumb luck? Or... Nah. Doesn’t matter.
The way his hands had moved, like they’d already known what to do. like he’d known.
He’d known he’d been different since that first day he woke up on the Erebus Dawn, what with how he seemed to pick up things so much quicker…
Or at least how he’d gotten so much better at noticing things that would have slipped his mentals before but…
Weird.
He glanced at his hands again. Maybe two brains smashed together means I have like a 200 IQ or something? He didn’t think that was how neurons or souls worked, but he wasn’t really sure what else would work as an explanation.
“You just gonna stand there, or you waiting for the screens to pat you on the back?”
Zedd’s head snapped up, his focus shifting to the doorway.
Connor leaned there, one shoulder propped against the frame, arms crossed like he had all the time in the world. The older tech’s smirk was almost casual, but his tone carried an edge—that same one from before.
Zedd straightened, forcing the tension out of his shoulders. “Just making sure it’s stable,” he said, voice casual.
Connor snorted, stepping into the room with slow, deliberate strides. “Yeah, well, stable or not, shit’s off about you.”
The teenager raised an eyebrow. What? “Me?”
Connor raised one of his own. “Yeah, you. Kid comes in, saves the day, and we’re all supposed to act like that’s normal?”
Oh, here we go. Man, what is with this place? Zedd slipped his hands into his pockets and gave the other man a shrug. “Just didn’t want to watch the grid blow up, chill.”
“Convenient,” Connor muttered, his smirk twisting. Sharper now. Meaner. “Guess it’s easy when you’ve got skills like that, huh? Skills like that from some random, huh?”
Zedd’s jaw tightened, fingers curling into fists in his pockets as the tension coiled back into his shoulders, but his expression stayed neutral. “Bro, you’ve been weird to me since that first day at the bar,” he nearly hissed the words out, forcing his expression flat as he spoke through gritted teeth. “I don’t care what your deal is, but what's your point, man?”
Connor stepped closer, his boots scuffing against the floor. his eyes narrowed, like he was sizing Zedd up. “Point is,” he started, voice dropping, “Eli might be covering for you but the rest of us aren’t buying it. Sure, some random kid fresh out of intermediate core hits colonyside already working like a pro and only got better since. Nobody picks this up that fast. Either you’re some kind of genius or you’re a liar.” His beady eyes narrowed Zedd's way. “And I’m betting on liar because y-"
Zedd didn’t move as he stared back at Connor, unblinking, unflinching. “Because I what?”
Connor’s smirk lingered, long enough to make Zedd’s skin prickle, as he noticed the longer the man held it, the more fake it looked.
“Because I what, Connor?” Zedd stared at the older man, doing his best to keep the heat out of his voice as he spoke to the shift lead. “Finish the sentence.”
Connor didn't, for whatever reason, the man simply shrugging his shoulders, slow and deliberate, as he turned toward the exit. “Doesn’t matter. Just... keep doing your thing. I’m sure you’ll be at the top of this place in no time, sitting in a comfy desk job. Your type always is.”
My type? Zedd didn’t bother replying. The comment wasn’t worth it, and the weight behind it felt like bait. Instead, he adjusted the strap of his toolkit, letting his fingers trace the worn edge as Connor started to walk away.
The sound of hurried footsteps cut through the quiet before Zedd could shift his focus. someone brushed past Connor, hard enough to make him stumble a half step. The older man muttered something sharp under his breath but didn’t turn back, probably already deciding the interruption wasn’t his problem.
The figure storming into the room wasn’t part of the crew. that much was obvious. The guy carried himself with that frantic, edge-of-breaking kind of energy that screamed nontechnical—desperate and out of place.
“You… you idiots cost us a med transport!” The man’s voice cracked, sharp and raw, slicing through the low hum of the generator.
Zedd straightened instinctively, his gaze snapping to the intruder. The guy’s jacket hung off his thin frame like an afterthought, his windswept hairline making him look like he’d sprinted straight here from wherever the storm had tossed him.
“My wife was supposed to be on that ship!” the words came hard, like they’d been burning in his chest too long, and now they were clawing their way out. His face was pale, his lips drawn tight, and his whole body seemed to tremble with something too big to hold in.
The room froze.
The low murmur of the few crew members still lingering in the corners dropped into silence, like the man’s words had sucked all the air out.
Zedd shifted in place, fingers twitching.
“We fixed it,” Elias said, stepping forward. The man kept his voice steady and even, but carried the edge of someone who’d been through this kind of thing before. “Your transport’s clear now.”
The man’s eyes snapped to Elias, narrowing for a split second before dropping to Zedd. His glare stuck there, sharp and heavy.
Too late. The thought hit him before the man even said it.
“Too late,” the colonist muttered, his voice low and jagged. “She’s gone.”
Zedd flinched. The words hit harder than they should have. Harder than he expected. His hands curled into fists at his sides, the strap of his toolkit biting into his palm.
I did my part. I did. The thought felt hollow, like it was trying too hard to stick, to hold back everything else pressing in around it.
The guy’s voice—his face—kept pushing.
Flashes of other faces flickered in Zedd’s mind, unbidden.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
His mom, eyes sharp with concern, his little sister hands in a bag of Citadel Crackers, both his brothers picking fights across where he sat in the middle seat, laughter breaking through the haze of memory.
Don’t go there. Don’t.
Elias took a step closer, his broad frame blocking some of the guy’s anger, but the tension didn’t ease. The man didn’t look at him again, though.
Instead, the guy’s shoulders slumped, his head shaking once, sharp and fast, like he was trying to hold himself together.
Then he turned and walked out, leaving nothing but silence.
Elias broke it first, exhaling a long breath through his nose. “How’d that bastard get in here anyway?” His tone wasn’t sharp, more resigned, like he was used to this kind of thing but still tired of it.
Zedd didn’t answer.
The question wasn’t for him, and his throat felt too tight to try anyway. He forced himself to move, shifting his weight and adjusting his toolkit’s strap again, the motion grounding him just enough to speak. “I'll head out.”
“Hold up, kid.”
Elias’s voice cut through the low hum of the corridor, stopping Zedd just as his hand grazed the cold edge of the doorframe.
Zedd glanced back, eyebrows flicking up, one hand resting lightly on the frame. “What?”
“Outside.” Elias jerked his head toward the exit, already moving toward it. “We need to talk.”
Great. Zedd sighed, rolling his shoulders to shake off the lingering tension in his muscles before following. The air outside was sharp, colder than he expected, biting through the lingering heat from the generator room. The faint glow of the colony’s prefab cabins spilled across the dirt paths, their scattered lights barely holding back the dark.
A NicStic flared between Elias’s fingers, the faint orange glow briefly lighting the older man’s face as he took a slow drag. The sharp tang of synthetic tobacco mixed with the metallic aftertaste of the night air.
“You've got a knack for this,” Elias said, exhaling a thin stream of smoke that curled upward, catching the dim light. His tone was thoughtful, distant, like he wasn’t even talking to Zedd but just... thinking out loud, more than anything. “Treat this shit like an art more than a science. Wild thing to watch.”
Zedd shifted, leaning back against the railing of the prefab steps. Arms crossed, his gaze dropped to the dirt beneath his boots. Why’s it feel like he’s not talking about the work?
“Protocol exists for a reason,” Elias continued, his voice dipping into something firmer, more pointed. “That’s what people are trained to use.”
There it is.
Zedd straightened a little, his tone calm but clipped. “Protocol would’ve taken too long. And egos don’t really mean a lot next to lives.”
Elias chuckled low, shaking his head. “You’re not wrong.”
Another slow drag, the ember flaring briefly before he spoke again. “Just don’t make a habit of it. You keep pulling rabbits outta hats like that, kid? Sooner or later, someone’s gonna want the tricks to stop. And they won’t ask nice.”
Wha- Frowning slightly at the odd analogy, Zedd focused on the meat of it. Why do I have to care about other people's feelings? It's a job. “Got it,” he said instead, forcing the words out even though they didn’t feel right.
Elias took one last pull on the NicStic before flicking it into the dirt, grinding the ember out under his boot. “Get some rest, kid. You’ll need it.”
– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –
The ride back to his cabin was quiet.
Which, being honest, he needed more than anything right now.
Zedd slumped against the cold metal frame of his seat, the hum of the engine vibrating faintly under his feet. outside, the dark stretched endlessly, broken only by the occasional flicker of lights from prefabs lining the road. His reflection hovered in the window as he found himself getting sucked back into his thoughts.
How the hell did I know how to do that? The question was one he'd mulled over since his first week. No training. No manual. Just... instinct. But from where? From who?
He'd been feeling it since the alarms stopped—since the bypass worked. Almost a full six weeks on this job. Six weeks, and already he was pulling off fixes that half of the other techs on staff didn’t think possible—not in that timescale and with as few tools as he’d used..
His fingers tapped against his thigh, restless.
Instinct?
That's what it had to be. the way his hands moved, the pieces fitting together before he even thought about them. It was like muscle memory, but for stuff he couldn’t remember ever learning.
Instinct from where, though? That was the fucking question, wasn’t it?
Neither of his two lives had that sort of skill or experience, at least not from the memories he had of either lifetime. Thirty-four years of nothing but being a semi-normal kid.
Maybe a little smarter than most others his age, but nothing crazy.
The engine hummed louder for a moment, climbing briefly before leveling out again as the transport hit smoother ground and began to slow, nearing his drop-off. Zedd leaned back, dragging a hand down his face.
Seconds later, the transport hissed to a halt, its doors sliding open with a faint creak. Zedd stepped out, the cool night air wrapping around him like a sharp reminder he was finally out of that generator room. Gravel crunched under his boots as he walked down the path, his mind a mess of thoughts drowning out the faint hum of the transport pulling away.
Ahead, the cabins sat in quiet rows, prefab walls reflecting the sparse lighting. Scraps of debris lined the street, caught in lazy piles by the wind. A heap of mangled metal caught his eye—a loader bot’s arm, its actuator half-visible.
He stopped, frowning as the idea hit him. The actuator might still work. The bolts could hold a panel. Even the wiring, frayed as it was, could be used.
The teenager nearly froze in place, before clicking his tongue and kept his pace going. Yeah, that doesn’t feel normal.
No…
It felt... automatic.
Like his brain was running ahead of him, filling in gaps he hadn’t even realized were there.
What the hell is going on with me?
He shook his head, pushing the thought down as he kept walking. The transport driver had done him a solid, dropping him off close enough to his cabin that the wind only had time to bite for a minute.
His cabin came into view, the faint yellow glow from the window cutting through the dark. He climbed the short steps to the porch, fingers brushing the doorframe as he reached for his keycard.
Then he heard it.
Behind him.
His muscles tensed as he twisted in place, quick and fluid, backing up to keep the door at his side rather than his back. The move was automatic - never get cornered, never let them trap you. His hand jerked to his hip, muscle memory reaching for the weight that wasn't there, hadn't been there since- Fuck!
It was the guy… with the wife… the one from before.
The guy’s jacket was zipped up tight, his hands shoved deep into the pockets. His face looked worse now, tight and pale, his eyes burning with something that had cooled from anger but still smoldered.
Zedd clicked his tongue, stepping back a little, keeping his posture loose but ready. “Look, I get it, man, I’m sorry… you’re upset. But you…” His eyes kept catching on those pockets, those hidden hands. Bad angle. Bad setup. “You can’t just follow me home.”
“I didn’t follow you anywhere.” The man’s voice was sharp, defensive, his words clipped like they’d been waiting to snap out. “All you booters working at the hub live here.”
Zedd bit back a hiss. He didn’t like that familiarity. “Still, that’s n—”
“You don’t get it.” The man cut him off, his voice shaking now, lower but heavier. “You fixed it, sure. But do you even understand what it means when the grid goes down? People die, kid. my wife...” His voice cracked, and he turned sharply, one hand running through his thinning windswept hair.
Zedd stared back at him blankly. What am I supposed to say to that? He did his fucking job. He fixed it. I’m fucking seventeen, man. The fuck do you want from me, even?
“I'm sorry, man,” Zedd said, barely bothering to put emotion into the words, as drained as he was already. He knew he didn’t really mean them, but he still couldn’t help but wish he did anyway. “For what it’s worth, I did my best.”
The man didn’t turn back, his shoulders slumping as he muttered under his breath.
“Fuck your best.”
Zedd’s irritation bubbled up, quick and hot, but just as fast, it faded, leaving only that nagging unease in its place. Wth a shake of his head, he waited for the man to vanish into distance before he finally turned back to his door, swiping his keycard over the scanner. The lock whirred softly, the familiar sound oddly comforting as he pushed the door open.
Inside, the air was still, the faint hum of the colony outside barely audible. He dropped his toolkit near the door, the weight of it finally gone, and crossed the small room to his cot.
The mattress creaked under him as he fell onto it, his body sinking into the worn fabric. His head bounced off the pillow, but his eyes stayed open, staring at the dull ceiling.
His thoughts looped in tight circles, replaying the night.
The bypass. The sparks. Connor’s smug, untrusting look.
Zedd’s fingers curled into the thin blanket covering the cot, his mind refusing to let the thought settle.
He closed his eyes, trying to will the exhaustion to drag him under.
I did not sign up to be on-call.