Chapter Ten

As their lunch completed, Poul hesitated as Lisa rose to start clearing the dishes. The dishwasher – or cleansing unit as he’d called it – had long since finished its cycle of the breakfast dishes, so she started unloading and reloading for the next run.

“There isn’t a lot,” she said as she worked, “so we can run a cycle later after dinner.”

At his noncommittal grunt, she turned and saw him staring at his hands folded on the table. His sense through the link was anxious, and his shoulders were tense.

“Poul?” she asked gently, abandoning her task to stand at his side and touch his arm. He started, then let out a breath and leaned into her. Wrapping her arms around him, she whispered, “We can stop with the boxes for now. We don’t have to keep going.”

He rested his head against her shoulder, inhaling her scent, then shook his head. “No,” he said, trying to keep the quiver out of his voice. “No, I…I’m all right.”

He sensed rather than saw the raise of her eyebrow, which caused him to let out a quiet chuckle. “I am, Lisa. It’s just…this is harder than I thought it would be.”

“I know,” she said, running her fingers through his hair. “But remember, I’m here. You’re not alone. At any time you want to stop, just let me know.”

Poul smiled into her hair, whispering, “Thank you.”

Lisa gave him a gentle squeeze. “Ready to get back to it?”

He held her a little tighter. “In a moment…”

She chuckled softly and rested her chin on his head. “Take as long as you need.”

The amount of time he needed was around ten more minutes, though she could sense he could have stayed in her arms far longer. When he finally took a deep breath and disentangled himself, he helped Lisa finish with the breakfast dishes before taking her hand to return to her room.

The rhythm of sorting files settled into a quiet, steady routine. Every so often, Lisa glanced at Poul to check in, sensing the ebb and flow of his emotions through their link. For the most part, he seemed calm, though there was an underlying tension in his movements, like he was bracing for something.

It wasn’t until Lisa opened a particular file that the atmosphere in the room shifted.

She paused, her gaze falling on the neatly printed label on the file tab. Incident: Storm Mine Eight.

Poul froze as he heard her voice in his head reading the words. His hand, which had been reaching for the next box, hovered in the air before slowly withdrawing. “Storm Mine Eight,” he murmured. His voice was distant, as though he were speaking from some faraway memory.

Lisa glanced at him, her expression softening with understanding. “You know this one.”

He nodded, swallowing hard. “I was there.”

In his mind, she could see blurry images of a much younger Uvanov and a man that resembled Zilda. The feelings coming through were a mix of confusion, anger, tension. She remembered a conversation that had happened on Storm Mine Four between Poul and Toos.

“…ten years ago, Uvanov deliberately murdered a member of his crew. Left him outside to die rather than lose a promising storm.”

“That’s this incident,” Poul said softly, reaching for the file. His fingers lingered on hers for a moment, letting her touch ground him to the present. Looking up at her, he said, “Sit here?” and patted the space beside him.

She scooted closer to him, resting her hand on his arm as he opened the cover.

The first page was a report from the Company, written in cold, clinical language. She sensed the words blurring together for him as his mind raced, fragments of memory surfacing unbidden.

“But there'd have been an enquiry,” said Toos’s voice, hesitant and disbelieving. “He'd have been stripped of command.

And his own response, bitter and resigned:

“Uvanov gets results. He's the best pilot this company's ever had and they didn't want to lose him.”

She felt his chest tighten as he stared at the words on the page, each line pulling him deeper into a memory he’d tried to bury.

Lisa squeezed his arm gently. “Take your time,” she said softly. “We don’t have to go through it all at once.”

But Poul shook his head, frowning at the file in his hands. “No, it’s…something’s not right. It says here that Uvanov left that crewman to die...the Company put a note in his official biograph and closed the case.” He scrunched his eyes shut, trying to force his brain to recall memories that were lost in the fog.

She placed her hands on his shoulders and squeezed. “You’re safe. There is no sandstorm outside and no robots. It’s just the two of us here.”

He took a deep breath, focusing on her touch. He placed one hand on hers to help ground himself, twining their fingers. “The dead man was…was Zilda’s brother. He was killed on Storm Mine Eight under Uvanov’s command.”

Nodding, she urged, “Go on.”

Poul’s jaw clenched; his brow furrowed deeply. She knew why it was difficult for him to remember more – Uvanov had explained the truth of the matter after Poul had collapsed with robophobia. She was surprised he remembered the conversation with Toos about the death of Zilda’s brother, but it made sense as that had happened before.

“I…I can’t…” His eyes flicked up to meet hers, wide and distant. “Please…”

It shattered her hearts to hear how broken he sounded. She couldn’t keep the truth from him. “After you collapsed and D84 brought you to the Control Deck, Uvanov explained that the crewman, Zilda’s brother, had run outside the mine during his first command. He had suffered from Grimwade’s Syndrome – robophobia – just as you had.” She rubbed her thumb against his fingers. “He’d tried to save him but couldn’t. Much like the Company had what happened to you covered up, the kid’s father did the same. Didn’t want his son to be thought a coward.”

She saw the way his shoulders tensed at that – the familiar frustration with the Company and their endless cover-ups. The truth twisted and buried to suit their narrative.

Poul exhaled shakily. “So all this time…I thought he was a murderer. And he wasn’t.”

Lisa nodded. “You couldn’t have known. You weren’t in any condition to process it then.”

He let out a bitter laugh. “I accused him of killing Zilda, thinking he was capable of murder. And all because I didn’t know the full story.”

Lisa gently cupped his cheek, her touch grounding him. “That doesn’t change the fact that you acted on what you thought was true. You believed you were protecting people.”

Poul closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. “It doesn’t make it right.”

“No,” Lisa agreed softly. “But it makes you human.”

For a moment, silence hung between them, the weight of the past settling in the space around them. Then Lisa reached out and gently closed the file, her fingers brushing over the worn cover. “Do you want to keep this one?” she asked, her tone careful, without pressure.

Poul hesitated, his gaze dropping to the file. “The retention policy doesn’t require it. It’s past the ten-year mark,” he said slowly. “But…it’s proof, isn’t it? Of what they covered up. What they’re willing to hide.”

Lisa nodded, understanding the deeper significance. “It is. But holding onto it doesn’t mean holding onto the pain, Poul. It can be a reminder of the truth, not the weight of the memory.”

He considered this for a long moment, then gave a slow nod. “I’ll keep it,” he said quietly. “Not because I want to dwell on it…but because it’s important to remember what they’re capable of.”

Her smile was small but filled with warmth as she placed the file into the “keep” pile. “One step at a time,” she said softly.

Poul exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “One step at a time,” he echoed, his voice steadier. He looked at her, a glimmer of gratitude in his eyes. “Thank you, Lisa.”

“Always,” she replied, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. She reached for his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You’re not alone in this.”

Together, they sat in the quiet of her room, the past no longer a looming shadow but a piece of the path they were navigating together. Though there was still much to face, the promise of shared strength gave Poul the courage to take another step forward.

End chapter ten.

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