Page 97 of Red Scale Daddy
I lift both brows. “You were saying?”
Roma gives me a look over her shoulder. “This is a repair environment experiencing hostile interference.”
“That is the most Roma Larson way to say battlefield I have ever heard.”
“I prefer accuracy.”
“You prefer control.”
“I prefer both.”
I watch her for another second too long. The signal marker glows on her display, faint and stubborn, tagged with her father’s checksum. Every time it flickers, her shoulders shift by a fraction. No one else would notice. I wish I didn’t.
“You locked the vector,” I say.
“Yes.”
“And the drones are back.”
“Yes.”
“And your ship still needs repair.”
“Yes.”
“And after all that, your biggest problem is still that you don’t know what to do if you actually win.”
She turns in the chair slowly, her expression going cold around the edges. “You are returning to that conversation now?”
“It wandered off when something tried to eat us. I’m herding it back.”
“How considerate.”
“I’m known for my delicacy.”
“You are known for damaging infrastructure.”
“That too.”
Roma stands, pulling up a repair overlay on the side display with a quick, angry motion. “I do not have time to indulge yourneed to poke at psychological wounds because silence makes you uncomfortable.”
“Silence doesn’t make me uncomfortable.”
“No?” She steps around the pilot’s chair, her red hair loosening from its braid again, copper strands catching against the collar of her suit. “You fill every quiet space with jokes, provocation, or tactical observations delivered like insults.”
I smile. “Good. You’re paying attention.”
“I observe threats.”
“That’s almost affectionate.”
“That was a diagnosis.”
I rise too, partly because sitting while she stands feels wrong, and partly because I know it will irritate her. The cockpit becomes smaller as soon as I am on my feet. It is not built for arguments between a human with too much pride and a Vakutan with too little sense. The emergency lights cast her face in hard planes, sharpening the bruise along her cheek and the defiance in her eyes.
“You observe everything except yourself,” I say.
Her chin lifts. “I am not a system requiring external audit.”
