He doesn’t respond at first. Just stares at me with that hollow-eyed tension, his shoulders tight like someone’s holding a blade against his spine.
Finally: “Hey, Jill.”
That’s it. Just that. Two syllables. No warmth. Barely recognition.
“Listen,” I say gently, lowering my voice. “About that compad—you okay with what you gave me?”
He swallows hard. Hard enough I hear it through the comm statics.
“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I think it’s fine.”
I tilt my head.
“That’s not an answer.”
He shakes his head, eyes darting toward Darwin—who, predictably, is hovering two paces behind us with a clipboard and an expression that saysI am entirely above suspicion.
“I said it’s fine,” Carson mutters. “It’s just… I don’t want trouble.”
“Trouble where? With Ciampa? With Darwin?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer. Just rubs the back of his neck slowly, like he’s been doing that too long to notice the tension calluses forming.
“Carson,” I say softly, “whatever’s going on, I want to help. But you have to talk to me.”
He looks at me then, really looks—eyes flickering with something like fear, or maybe guilt, maybe both. And beforehe can speak, Darwin coughs loudly in the background, medication-syringe under his coat like he’sjust passing through.
Carson bolts.
I watch him go.
And I realize—he’s not leaving because he’s ashamed of what he found.
He’s leaving because he’sterrifiedof what it means.
I return to the lab module, boots crunching over dust that feels like tiny sparks underfoot. My compad buzzes with updates—nothing unusual, just tedious logs from the base routine. But I know better. I know something’s missing from the readings.
Something the official channels aren’t picking up.
I work late into the artificial night, light buzzing overhead like an overworked eyelid. I adjust frequency ranges, modulate pulses, test pressure differentials.
The crystals don’t just react.
Theyrespond.
To certain patterns.
Not all.
Only specific, repeating harmonics.
What kind of organism—if organism is even the right term—does that?
I lean back in my chair, weary, rubbing the ridge of my nose through the gloves.
My stomach growls.
It’s the first thing in days that feels normal.
