The atmosphere in the command center was heavy.
It was not the heavy pressure of gravity during a hyper-jump. It was the suffocating weight of awkward silence mixed with the smell of old ozone and sadness.
Ragia sat in his command chair.
He was not spinning. He was watching the scene unfolding near the tactical station with a look of mild discomfort.
Mira, yes… our Mommy, was holding a bowl of white, gooey substance. She looked determined. Her rabbit ears were standing straight up.
Sitting in front of her was Velele. The rescued Melito looked small. She was shivering, wrapped in a thermal blanket that was two sizes too big for her. Her green hair was matted, and her eyes were staring at nothing.
"Eat," Mira said softly. She held the spoon out. "It will make you feel better, sweetheart. It is warm."
Velele shook her head weakly. She pushed the spoon away.
"I cannot," Velele whispered. "My stomach... it feels like it is tied in knots."
"That is exactly why you need this," Mira insisted. She moved the spoon closer to Velele's lips. "It is Kivile. Gin made it special. It coats the stomach. It soothes the soul. Open up."
Velele hesitated. She looked at the white goo. Then she looked at Mira's kind face.
Slowly, she opened her mouth.
Mira fed her. It was a gentle, maternal motion that seemed out of place on a warship designed to kill aliens.
Let me explain what you are looking at.
That white stuff is Kivile. It is not just porridge. It is a cultural institution on Mars. It is made from processed sago starch, boiled until it reaches a consistency that can only be described as edible glue. It is bland. It is sticky, but to anyone who grew up in the colonies, it tastes like home.
You see…
Kivile is versatile. You can eat it with savory soup, or you can eat it sweet with brown sugar, but the real debate, the war that has divided families for generations, is the temperature.
Some people, like Gin, believe it must be served boiling hot. They say the heat activates the starch.
Others, the sane ones, believe it should be served ice cold.
Imagine it. A hot summer day in the biodome. You take a bowl of chilled Kivile. You add a splash of coconut milk. You add some diced mango. You maybe garnish it with a little bit of...
"Hey!"
Ragia looked up. He was looking directly at... well, at me.
"Hey… you," Ragia said, his voice annoyed. "Cut the exposition. We do not need a cooking show right now. Nobody cares about your recipe for cold porridge."
I paused.
I was just trying to add some flavor, Ragia. I was trying to build the world.
"Focus on the plot," Ragia snapped, rubbing his temples. "Stop the info dump. It is boring. Velele is traumatized, not hungry for a history lesson."
Yeah… fine.
I suppose you are right. You are always right.
Or at least, you think you are.
I will save my recipe for later, but you are missing out. It is delicious.
Okay…
Back in the room, Velele swallowed the spoonful of Kivile. A little bit of color returned to her pale cheeks.
"Good girl," Mira smiled, wiping Velele's mouth with a napkin. "Finish the bowl. You need the energy."
Just then, the door to the Med Bay slid open.
Xecta walked in. She looked tired. Her rabbit tail was drooping low. She was followed by Arala, who was holding a plush toy that looked like a giant germ.
"Report, Shorty," Ragia said, leaning forward.
Xecta sighed. She walked over to Ragia.
"Lacrosse is stable, Capt," Xecta said softly. "The trauma to his legs was severe, but my Remido closed the wounds. The infection is gone."
"That is good news, Shorty," Ragia nodded.
"However," Xecta continued, her voice trembling slightly. "He is not waking up. His brain activity is minimal. He is in a deep coma. I do not know when... or if... he will wake up."
A soft sob broke the silence.
Velele buried her face in her hands and started to cry. It was a heartbreaking sound.
"He is all I have left," Velele wept. "Everyone else..."
Mira put the bowl down. She wrapped her arms around Velele, pulling the small girl into her large, comforting chest.
"Shh," Mira whispered, rocking her back and forth. "He is strong, Velele. He is an Inquor, remember? He will fight his way back. And until he does, you have us. You are safe here."
"Come on," Mira said, standing up and lifting Velele with her. "Let us get you to a bunk. You need sleep. Real sleep. Not passing out from exhaustion."
Mira led the crying girl out of the room. Arala and Xecta followed them, looking back at Ragia with worried expressions before the door closed behind them.
The room felt empty now.
And now, only three people remained.
Ragia was still in his chair. Iya… stood by the tactical console, and Tonix was sitting at the helm, spinning a pen between her fingers.
"I am going to the galley," Gin's voice came over the comms. "Dinner is not going to cook itself. And if I stay here, I might punch something."
"Make something spicy, Chef," Ragia said into the air. "We need to wake up."
"Aye, Capt," Gin replied, and the line went dead.
"Capt," another voice chimed in. It was Raya. "I am heading to my lab. That object I found in the Gyra wreckage... the black sphere."
"What about it, Prof?" Ragia asked.
"It is emitting a frequency," Raya said. "It feels familiar. I need to run a spectral analysis. It might be a beacon. Or a black box."
"Do it," Ragia ordered. "Let me know the second you find anything."
"Affirmative," Raya said.
Silence returned to the command center.
Ragia stood up. He walked over to the viewport. The stars were streaks of light as the Xeca moved at cruising speed.