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"Denied," Vondra repeated. "The non-contact waiver was rejected by the Oversight Committee. The Qorrathi delegation filed a formal objection under the Protected World protocol, and the committee agreed. A citizen of a non-contact civilization cannot hold a permanent senior position within the Coalition, vessel or otherwise."

"With all due respect, Admiral, she has been holding that position for two weeks already and doing the job for six months." Reyna heard her voice get sharp, but she didn't stop. "She rebuilt our thermal protocol. She brought a cascade back from the edge in ninety-two seconds with a technique that is not in any manualthe Coalition has ever printed. My engine efficiency is the best it has been in my entire command, and your own analysts flagged the numbers as an error because they couldn't believe them?—"

"I have read the field reports, Reyna," Vondra interjected. Reyna felt the frequency move between them, a weight present in Vondra's words. "The data is extraordinary. Everyone can see that. But it's not about competence."

Reyna blanched. "Then what could it possibly be about?"

Vondra's geode eyes disappeared for a second, giving Reyna the impression she was closing and opening them again. "Precedent, Captain."

"Precedent?"

"Reyna, consider this. If the committee approves this, every civilization in Coalition space with minimal involvement in policy would have grounds to challenge the protocol framework. They've decided that door is to remain shut."

"Well, that's absolutely ridiculous. It's a stupid door," Reyna said. "Open it."

Vondra said nothing.

Reyna ran a hand through her hair. "There has to be an appeal process," she said. "There's always an appeal process."

"There is," Vondra answered. "I have already begun it. The timeline for response is six to eight cycles."

"Six to eight—" Reyna stopped. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, returning her hands to the flat top of her desk. "Fine. Fine! Six to eight cycles is... survivable. Charlie keeps doing the work, the bay keeps running, we just call it provisional on the paperwork and nobody has to?—"

"Reyna."

Reyna stopped.

That was three times now.

Vondra did not interrupt people. She let you talk and run all the way out of things to say. Reyna had sat in this chair for years and had never once been cut across.

But now it had been three times in one call.

"What happens to Charlie in the meantime, Vondra?" Reyna said, clipped and low.

The water around the Admiral seemed to go darker.

"The committee has recommended removal," Vondra said. "They want her brought to the capital, so discussions can continue about her placement in Coalition space. They're sending transfer instructions before the end of the next cycle."

Reyna's mind traveled to her days in training at Novahall, where most it discussed the dangers of the vacuum. How it would feel, how fast you would die, how much time you would have. It told you what would happen to your body, your brain, and even your skin. Textbooks described it as being akin to having the life force pulled out of you by the vast emptiness that is deep space.

Reyna thought, in that very moment, that she knew exactly how it would feel.

Because she felt nothing but her life force being pulled out of her at the thought of Charlie being taken away.

Placement in Coalition space.

She saw all of it at once. A room on a station nobody had ever bothered to tell Charlie existed. Rooms without a single engine in them. Charlie Wickett sitting in a corridor somewhere with nothing to fix and nothing to do but wait, beingdiscussed.

They would call her Wickett, or worse, Charlotte. Every one of them, every day, and not one of them would ever ask about Earth or find out that she sang. Reyna could see her sitting in some waiting room with her hands in her lap and the knot on her bracelet turned around on her wrist where nobody could see it.

Some committee somewhere, deciding what to do with a human.

"No," Reyna said.

"Reyna—"

"No."