Page 48 of Red Scale Daddy
“I have many. Your approval was not requested.”
“If I’m supposed to help keep us alive, I need visibility.”
“You have hull status, environment, medical, limited external feed, and emergency comms.”
“I have the children’s menu.”
“You have what you require.”
Dux leans forward, bracing his forearms on his knees as much as the harness allows. His tone remains conversational, but the levity sharpens into something more practical. “When a fight breaks out inside a ship, the person who wins is often the one who knows three seconds earlier which wall is about to stop being a wall.”
“This is not a battlefield.”
“Not yet.”
My fingers pause above the propulsion confirmation, then continue. “Do not romanticize paranoia.”
“I’m a veteran. We call it experience when it works.”
“And when it doesn’t?”
“We call it Tuesday.”
I dislike him.
I dislike that he is sometimes right.
I open a restricted overlay and route him a limited structural threat map: pressure doors, sealed crawlspaces, emergency bulkheads, primary hazard zones, and basic shield status with no access authority. His station accepts it. His brows lift slightly.
“There,” I say. “Visibility. No control.”
He studies the new display. “That hurt you.”
“Deeply.”
“I’m proud of you.”
“I can revoke it.”
“I retract all emotional growth commentary.”
The first warning chime rings again.
I do not look over. “What did you touch?”
“Nothing important.”
“That is a confession in costume.”
“I tried to zoom the structural map.”
“You can zoom by pinching the display.”
“I did.”
“You used claw pressure.”
“Is that different?”
