The surface of the column ripples again, and this time the sensation that follows isn’t memory or emotion—it’s structure. I see it the way I see a problem in the field when I’m knee-deep in poisoned soil and dying roots. Flows. Bottlenecks. Pressure points.
The ship has been venting excess output into the surrounding environment because that’s what it was designed to do. Space doesn’t get poisoned. Planets do.
“If it keeps discharging like this,” I say slowly, “the desert doesn’t just keep dying. It accelerates. The contamination spreads outward in waves.”
Rakkh’s jaw tightens. “And the alternative?”
I hesitate.
“There is one,” I admit. “But it’s not… safe. Not for the ship.”
Travnyk’s tusks tilt forward slightly—attention sharpening. “Define unsafe.”
“It would mean internal containment,” I say. “Redirecting the excess back into dormant systems. Systems that were never meant to be under sustained load.”
Tomas stares at me. “That sounds like how things explode.”
“Yes,” I say softly. “Eventually.”
The word lands heavy in the chamber.
Rakkh shifts then—finally—turns fully toward me. His wings draw in tighter, creating a pocket of space that feels strangely private despite the others standing only a few steps away.
“How long?” he asks.
I meet his eyes.
“I don’t know. Months. Years. Maybe long enough for us to find another solution—or evacuate everything within range.”
His expression doesn’t change, but I feel the decision forming under his skin like heat building beneath stone.
“And the cost to you?” he asks.
That stops me. Not because I hadn’t considered it, but because I was hoping no one would ask, especially him.
“I…” My throat tightens. “It would require oversight. Continuous correction. The ship doesn’t trust its own judgment anymore.”
Tomas’s voice goes thin. “So it would lean on yours.”
“Yes.”
Rakkh’s claws flex, just once. “No.”
The word is quiet. Absolute. I start to protest, but he leans down slightly so his voice reaches only me.
“You are not a regulator. You are not a component.”
“I know,” I whisper back. “But if I don’t?—”
“You are not alone,” he says, cutting me off. His forehead brushes mine, brief and electric, the contact sending a shiver straight through my chest.
“And you will not be consumed by something that does not understand the value of what it takes.”
My breath stutters. The others are still there. I know that. I feel Travnyk’s attention and Tomas’s anxious energy, but in this moment, the space between Rakkh and me feels like its own enclosed world.
The ship hums lower, uncertain. It reacts to Rakkh again. I’m not sure if it is as a threat or only as resistance, but neither is good.
The column’s light flickers, the patterns along its surface destabilizing just enough to tell me the system doesn’t like being denied.
