Chapter 38 : Aftermath
I made it halfway to Chandler's position before Rachel intercepted me.
She appeared from a side corridor in the secured facility, still wearing her blood-stained clothes, her expression unreadable. Without a word, she grabbed my arm and pulled me into an empty room — some kind of administrative office, dust-covered and abandoned.
The door closed behind us with a click that felt louder than it was.
"What are you?"
The question landed like a blow. Direct. Uncompromising. The scientist's demand for data stripped of all pretense.
"Rachel, Chandler is waiting—"
"Chandler can wait thirty seconds." Her eyes held mine with an intensity that made me forget I outweighed her by eighty pounds. "I was dying. I felt the metal in my side. I felt my spine—" She stopped, swallowed. "I felt myself dying, Corbin. And then your hands glowed, and I didn't. I need to understand that."
"I can't explain it fully. There are... blocks. Things I literally can't say."
"Then tell me what you can."
I took a breath, feeling the speech restriction at the edges of my consciousness like a physical barrier. There were truths I could share — partial, incomplete, but truths nonetheless.
"I have abilities. They manifested during the crisis, connected somehow to Nathan James, to saving lives." Each word came carefully, testing the boundaries of what the system would allow. "I can sense things — health status, morale, danger. I can repair things, convert materials. And apparently, I can heal people."
"Heal people." Rachel's voice was flat. "You can heal mortal wounds with glowing hands, and you're presenting this like it's a minor skill."
"I didn't know I could do that until today. The system — the abilities — they've been revealing themselves gradually. This was... new."
"The system." She seized on the word. "What system? Where does this come from?"
The block tightened. I pushed against it, searching for words that would form.
"I don't know. Not fully. It's connected to survival, to protecting people, to building something that can last through the plague." The words felt inadequate, but they were the closest to truth I could manage. "Every time I save lives, I grow stronger. Every person I help adds to whatever this is."
Rachel was silent for a long moment. Her hands moved unconsciously to her side, pressing against the unblemished skin where fatal wounds had been.
"The infected sailors you identified before symptoms. The facility equipment you 'assessed' as less damaged than reports indicated. The tactical insights you've been feeding Chandler." She was connecting dots, building the picture I'd tried to hide. "All of this comes from your... system."
"Yes."
"And you've been hiding it since we met."
"I didn't have a choice. How would you have reacted if I'd walked into your lab and said 'I have supernatural abilities'? You would have thought I was delusional. Or worse."
"Or worse." Her voice was sharp. "What's worse than delusional?"
"A threat. Someone whose mental state made them dangerous to the mission." I held her gaze. "I needed to help without being removed from the equation. The only way to do that was to hide what I could do."
"So you lied. To everyone. To me."
"I told partial truths. I omitted rather than deceived whenever possible."
"The distinction doesn't matter much when someone's bleeding out and you're pretending to apply first aid while actually using magic."
Magic. The word hung between us, a concept that didn't belong in her scientific worldview.
"I don't know if it's magic," I said quietly. "I don't know what it is. I just know it works, and it lets me help people. That's what matters."
Rachel's expression shifted — not softening exactly, but losing some of its sharp edge. She was processing, analyzing, trying to fit impossible data into a framework that didn't have a category for it.
"You saved my life." The words came slowly, like she was testing each one. "Using something impossible. Something you've been hiding while helping everyone around you." A pause. "I don't forgive the lies. But I understand choosing the mission over honesty."
It wasn't absolution. It wasn't acceptance. But it was something.
"What happens now?" I asked.
"Now you go talk to Chandler and tell him whatever version of the truth will keep you functioning on this ship." Rachel moved toward the door. "And then, when the immediate crisis is over and people stop shooting at us, we're going to have a much longer conversation about what you are and what you can do."
"Rachel—"
"Don't." She paused with her hand on the doorknob. "Don't make promises you can't keep, and don't apologize for things that aren't actually wrong. You did what you had to do. I'm still angry about it. Both things can be true."
She opened the door and stepped into the corridor, leaving me alone with the dust and the weight of partial confessions.
---
Master Chief Jeter was waiting outside.
He stood in the hallway with the patient stillness of a man who'd learned to wait during thirty years of military service. His expression gave nothing away, but his eyes tracked me with an intensity that said the waiting was over.
"Walk with me."
It wasn't a request. I fell into step beside him as he led me away from the administrative corridor, toward a quieter section of the secured facility.
"The witnesses are talking," Jeter said without preamble. "Glowing hands. Miraculous healing. Dr. Scott walking out of an explosion that should have killed her."
"I know."
"I'm telling them they saw advanced medical technology. Classified Navy project. Experimental field kit that Chandler authorized for emergency use." His voice was level, matter-of-fact. "The story's thin, but people want to believe in technology more than magic. Give them a scientific explanation, even a bad one, and most of them will take it."
I stopped walking. "You're covering for me."
"I'm managing a situation that could destroy crew cohesion if handled poorly." Jeter turned to face me. "A third of these people just watched the impossible happen. If they start believing in supernatural powers, the chain of command breaks down. People question orders. They wonder what else is being hidden. They lose faith in the structure that's keeping them alive."
"So you're lying to protect them."
"I'm providing a narrative that lets them process what they saw without losing their minds." His eyes hardened. "You're welcome, by the way."
The rebuke was gentle but unmistakable. I'd created this problem; Jeter was cleaning it up.
"I owe you an explanation."
"You owe me more than that." Jeter resumed walking. "But that conversation happens after you deal with Chandler. He's waiting, and he's not patient."
"What does he know?"
"Less than me. More than he should." Jeter stopped at a doorway — the facility's central command room, repurposed as a temporary command post. "He's choosing to focus on results rather than methods. Don't give him a reason to change his mind."
The door opened. Chandler stood inside, studying a tactical display showing the facility's secured perimeter.
"Sir." Jeter nodded. "I'll leave you to it."
He withdrew, and the door closed, leaving me alone with the captain.
Chandler didn't turn around immediately. His attention stayed on the display, tracking the movement of assault teams, medical personnel, the slow process of converting a battlefield into a secured position.
"I'm hearing impossible reports," he said finally. "Glowing hands. Instant healing. Dr. Scott walking when she should have been dead."
"Yes, sir."
"I'm also seeing a secured facility. Two hundred forty-seven saved hostages. The cure production equipment intact and operational. Dr. Scott not only alive but apparently undamaged."
"Yes, sir."
Chandler turned. His expression was unreadable — the face of a commander who'd learned to hide his thoughts behind thirty years of military composure.
"Whatever you did, the results speak for themselves. I don't need to understand how you do it. I need to know one thing." His eyes locked on mine. "Are you a threat to this crew?"
The question was direct. It deserved a direct answer.
"No, sir. Everything I can do, every ability I have — it's oriented toward protection. Saving lives. Building something that survives. I couldn't harm this crew if I wanted to."
"And you don't want to?"
"No, sir. These are my people now."
Chandler studied me for a long moment. Whatever he saw in my face, it seemed to satisfy some internal calculation.
"Then we won't discuss this further until circumstances require it. You'll continue providing intelligence support. If you see threats, you report them. If you have insights that help the mission, you share them." A pause. "And if you need to use your... methods... to save lives, you do it. I don't need the details."
"Understood, sir."
"Dismissed."
I turned toward the door, then stopped.
"Sir? Thank you. For not asking questions you don't want answered."
Chandler's expression didn't change. "Every commander learns that some tools work better in darkness than light. Just make sure the results keep speaking for themselves."
The door closed behind me, and I allowed myself a breath of something that felt almost like relief.
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