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Three days after catching her first glimpse of Zor Prime since his death, Dana Sterling returned to the lower decks.
The vast repair bay was a raucous gridwork of noise and motion, divided by dozens of maintenance platforms. Here, she spotted him at once. Far off in the corner, he crouched beside her old Flash Clapper hovercycle, wearing the standard mechanic uniform and a safety helmet pulled low. Not a trace of his signature lavender hair was visible. Yet locating him was effortless. He was like a beacon, cutting through the shifting crowd. And she could always find him.
Three days earlier, shock had gripped her so hard she turned away the moment she recognized him. Her voice of reason kept telling her: This wasn't Zor Prime. Just another clone of the original Zor. She knew there had been others—dozens of Zor clones produced and lost to the void during the motherships' fifteen-year voyage. But she did come across one named Rem, six years ago, just after returning to Space Station Liberty. Rem was taller, with slightly different hair and eye color from Zor Prime, but they looked almost identical. As a scientist, Rem was courteous, sociable, and well-liked throughout REF. He had once asked her kindly, "Do I know you?" She dropped a flat "In another lifetime," and kept moving, leaving him and his friends confused, exchanging awkward glances.
So, was this another Liberty moment? How many of those had the universe prepared for her? Maybe she should just walk away right now. And never set foot down here again.
She stared across the entire floor, eyes locked on that man. The bay roared around her like a leviathan of steel and steam, dismantling and reforging itself endlessly, hot and loud and chaotic, light-years away from the sterile calm of Station Liberty. Exhaust vents howled. Pressure pumps growled. Cutting and welding torches screamed. Hammers slammed in a brutal rhythm. Shouts pierced the din—orders, warnings, bursts of swearing. The air stank of hot oil, scorched plastic, the minty sting of coolant, sweat, and the tang of overcooked meat. The whole place shimmered with heat, like a soup pot bubbling over. Only in this place did the Stellariα shed its polish and reveal the weathered face of a starship forty years old.
So crude. So real. A wild industrial jungle. Platforms rose in dense, towering ranks, their muscular silhouettes overlapping into a metal forest. Still, in this monotony there was unexpected beauty: welding arcs blossomed everywhere, white-hot sparks floating like snow and dancing like children's festival fireworks—sketching fleeting strokes of brilliance between her and him, only to vanish. She walked through it all, her gaze never leaving him. One step. Then another.
He was focused on adjusting the hovercycle's central shaft, a toolkit spread open at his side. His gray-and-blue coveralls bore reinforced navy padding at the knees and elbows, along with black gloves, a silver-gray helmet, and a pale-blue visor. Plain work gear, nothing more. But he had never been someone clouded by rough clothes. Each time the welding arc flared nearby, it caught on the oil-stained edges of his outfit, tracing the lines of his shoulders and arms like glowing steel. Magnetic, yet unaware of it.
She stood silently, watching him for a long time. Every movement was so achingly familiar—his motions, his posture, even the way he carried himself. Unlike Rem, every inch of this man screamed she knew him. When he knelt beside the old hovercycle, it was exactly like twenty years ago, when he had ridden his Flash Clapper out alongside her into the open. It took all her strength not to rip off his helmet right then. If that lavender, wavy hair were to fall free, she was certain she could recognize every single strand.
She didn't even realize she'd circled him as if inspecting some rare animal at the zoo. He could feel her intense, almost rude stare, and looked up at her a few times. He said nothing—maybe out of respect for the status her uniform implied—but it was clear he was growing uneasy. After her third pass, he finally set down his tools, rose to his full height, and pulled off his safety helmet with lavender hair spilling loose across his shoulders. She stopped abruptly. He walked straight toward her, his violet-blue eyes challenging her sharp gaze, unflinching.
"Done," he said.
"What?" she was so tense that she couldn't process what he meant.
"It's done," his voice firmer this time.
"Oh," it was all she could manage.
"Commander Sterling?" he asked, checking the task board.
Her heart skipped. Then it occurred to her that her title was printed right there. Warily, she said, "My name's Dana. Dana Sterling."
His face stayed impassive. "My name's Zor."
The world spun. That name was like a taboo, with hardly anyone having spoken it around her for twenty years. She had been bracing herself for this, but hearing it slip from this man's own lips was just overwhelming. It took her several seconds to collect herself and then she realized Zor was gazing at her.
"Commander?"
"Call me Dana."
He looked slightly surprised and seemed not to quite get her sudden informality. She looked at him expectantly, longing to hear him speak out her name once again, as if that single word might work like a spell and thaw that ice-carved face.
Zor hesitated. "Dana," he said quietly. Her heart thudded in her chest, but what he said next was only, "Want to test the cycle?"
It was like a bucket of cold water. "No." Her tone suddenly cooled as she looked away.
He fed the task board into the register. The machine spat out an old-fashioned paper receipt. Since her cycle wasn't fleet property, the repair bay processed it with civilian paperwork.
She was so flustered she signed in the mechanic's box by mistake. Zor didn't comment. He simply printed another copy and handed it over. She was shocked again at her own loss of composure. She heard Zor's voice, "You okay?"
She knew she must look half-delirious—pale, sweating, like someone about to collapse. He was standing too close, close enough that she was drowning in his familiar scent. Half of her wanted to throw herself at him, while the other half held her back. The tearing feeling inside sent her reeling. She had to flee.
She took the receipt in haste and excused herself. When she swung her leg over the hovercycle, Zor spoke behind her, "Wait."
She started the engine, unwilling to linger. Over the roar of the motor, his voice reached her, clear as crystal:
"You knew me once, didn't you?"
She hit the brakes hard, frozen in place.