Rayla's body lay on the table as the robot hovered over her, its metallic hands deftly manipulating medical tools. Medicine and scalpels were the entirety of its existence. Could one truly call this a life? Was it, in fact, alive? Its sole purpose was to save organic creatures from death and sustain their lives. Yet, amidst this, the robot grappled with the irony of being unable to comprehend the very concepts it was designed to preserve. What was death, and what constituted life? These were questions that might forever elude its understanding.

However, one undeniable truth remained—the being on the table was undeniably alive, teetering perilously close to the brink of death. The robot's hands moved with precision as it made the necessary incisions. Despite the gravity of the situation, the robot's demeanor remained unwavering. It had never operated on this species before, yet the knowledge required for the task was hardwired into its mechanical brain. It was a master in a craft it had never chosen—a purpose assigned to it since its very conception. The spectators in the room were inconsequential; they couldn't distract the robot from its mission, a switch both figurative and literal firmly flipped.

The robot skillfully removed the bacterial blockage, but the unfortunate reality was that Rayla's condition was not curable. Treatments existed, yet they only served to stave off the inevitable. The bacteria, a living entity, adapted and evolved, intensifying the severity of the infection over the years. What might have started as a routine bacterial infection had transformed into a relentless adversary, gradually eroding the very vessel that housed it.

Living organisms were far more intricate than the robot's mechanical self. While it could effortlessly delete a bug in its system or have its code rewritten, organic entities faced more perilous challenges. Their bodies were limited in their ability to ward off threats, relying on riskier methods to combat infections.

Rayla's condition added another layer of complexity—unpredictability. Symptoms could lie dormant for years, suddenly surfacing with equal intensity. An emotional outburst, like Rayla's reaction, triggered an organic malfunction, causing her body to lose control and succumb to shutdown, providing the bacteria an opportunity to spread.

The robot had executed all within its capabilities. Now, the only course for Rayla was to follow prescribed treatments, embracing this precarious state of living until functionality inevitably ceased. The duration of her remaining time remained uncertain, and a full recovery was far from guaranteed. Nevertheless, if the robot had gleaned anything from dealing with uncertainties, it was that any chance, no matter how slim, was preferable to none.

Tobi stood behind the doors with his friends and enemies, a heavy atmosphere hanging in the air as they awaited news of Rayla's survival.

“So you're Rayla's old man?” Rito asked, his tone laced with bitterness.

“I am,” he replied somberly, avoiding eye contact with the diminutive alien.

“It must have been hard to give her up,” Tobi remarked, still clutching his injured arm.

“You might not believe it, but if I could go back, I'd... I don't know what I'd do. Even with hindsight, I don't know how I would have fixed this. Do you think she will ever forgive me?”

“I'm not sure,” Tobi responded sadly. “The only thing we can do is see. Rayla believes in second chances; otherwise, she wouldn't be here right now. The only thing we can do is wait.”

“Do you know what it's like to lose a child? For them to suddenly be gone. The ship felt so empty after that, like a part of me vanished that day. We didn't even get to say goodbye; she was just suddenly gone. The doctors took her, and we never saw her again.”

“Life seems cruel, doesn't it?” Oros interjected, leaning against the wall, his body still battling the effects of the poison. “All this war and destruction, and what for? Nothing more than death and separation. You chose this life for yourself when you still had stakes. It took your daughter away, just like the black market took my brother. I have nothing left, and that's exactly why I fight.” He slowly walked forward, nearly stumbling, but Tobi caught him, using his good arm to support Oros over his shoulder.

“You need to take some personal responsibility. You can't whine and complain about having your daughter taken when you, yourself, took others' lives. You put your own life's value over others and then blame everyone else when it backfired. People like you are why my brother is dead, why Tobi was stolen from his home, and why your daughter hates your guts!”

“Oros, I think that's enough,” Tobi tried to reason.

“Shut up, Tobi. I'm only saying what we're all thinking.” Oros locked eyes with the captain. “Now, are you going to stop with the pity party you're throwing for yourself and be a father, or are you going to wimp out and make her realize that she was right about you, that you are a pathetic sack of shit?”

“Watch your tongue; that's the captain you're speaking to, Cergon!” Slate shouted.

“No, he's right. I need to do what’s right. I need to make it up to my daughter. Even if she won't forgive me, I need to try. I need to do right by her at least once in this lifetime. One kind gesture might not heal all those years of agony, but it might numb the pain.”

“We can only hope,” Tobi echoed solemnly.

“You know, we aren't all evil. In fact, I think we're a lot alike,” the captain started again. “We are all wayward souls who've experienced our share of pain and misery. The only difference was the path we chose to follow.”

“Perhaps no one is truly different. Every way you look at it, we are all the same, beings running on pain and misery for an unknown goal just outside our reach. If we could all share empathy for one another, perhaps the universe would be a better place,” Rito pondered, not looking up from the ground.

“Perhaps, but the truth is, no answer exists and will never exist. Philosophy will get us nowhere. If we sat around and pondered life all day like a bunch of idiots, nothing would get done. Like it or not, the only one here doing anything is G-MERA,” Oros hissed.

“Well, I'm going to change that! I'm going to make Rayla her favorite dessert for when she wakes up,” Rito declared, making his way to the hallway. “I'm going with the bug, and I might as well stop by our ship and fill Mauve in on this. She is probably wondering where we are right now.

“I just pray I'll have the chance to make it up to my daughter and that this illness doesn't take her away as it did my love,” the captain softly put his hand on the glass, staring sadly at the scene behind the window.

The doors opened in what felt like forever but in reality was a much shorter time. “I have completed the surgery. She is still unconscious from the anesthetic but is stable. You may see her, but do not do anything stupid. Her body is under a lot of stress trying to combat the rest of her infection. She almost lost a kidney, and I fear she will if she has another outburst like that. It's pretty hard to come by replacement organs in the middle of space.” She then looked at Tobi's arm. “And you will need stitches. Go sit on the chair while I get my thread.”

“Okay,” Tobi said sadly, looking over his friend's body, the rise and fall of her chest being the only thing to keep him comfortable.

The captain walked over to the bed where his daughter lay. A gentle hand caressed her, and the man fought back tears he dared not shed. “I don't know if you can hear me, Saffron, but I want to make it up to you. I want to be your dad again. I don't know if you want that, but I want a chance—a chance to make you happy again, a chance to be a dad again, a chance to be a family once more.” He held her hand, not expecting a response but merely providing her with some small bit of comfort—a simple gesture that said, "I'm here, and you're not alone."

Rayla awoke, still drowsy and weak. She felt a gentle hand holding hers, and as she looked down, she followed the other hand to its owner. She couldn't quite describe the emotions welling up inside her as she saw her dad's face. Staring into his eyes, her own stung with tears. “Dad,” she let out a weak voice, “were you just talking?”

“I-I was. Did you hear me?”

“Yes, I'm willing to let you try. I don't want to go to the grave full of regret.” Her tears continued to fall, and he gently wiped them away.

“I'm sorry for making you cry, not just now, but as a whole. You have shed too many tears over me, and I feel guilty. I can't promise I'll be the best father because I have already failed you, but I promise I'll try. I'll try so hard. I want to see you smile. If I have to see one thing before I die, I want it to be my baby girl smiling at me with pride, like I'll be smiling proudly at you from now on.”

“Thanks, Dad,” she smiled weakly.

“I'll get out of your hair. You are probably still tired. We'll be here a few days so we can catch up. I'll see you later.”