Voices rise somewhere to my left, not shouting, yet. But close. I listen first before turning. Too many voices at once. Overlapping. Human tones layered over the sharper cadence of the Urr’ki, grounded by the lower, steadier presence of the Zmaj.
All three. Great.
I shift that way, sliding the clipboard under my arm so I can free a hand if I need it.
“—not leaving it,” someone is saying as I approach. “It took three days to process?—”
“And it will take one break to lose everything beneath it,” another cuts in.
“It’s necessary.”
“It’s weight.”
“It’s survival.”
“It’s risk.”
The words stack the same way the supplies do. Too much in one place. Not enough balance. I step into the edge of the group, letting my presence register before I speak. It doesn’t take long.
“Show me,” I say.
The argument shifts immediately, all of them turning toward me at once. Hands move. Voices redirect. Everyone suddenly certain they’re right.
I glance down as one of them pushes a container toward me, my fingers already flipping to the correct section of the list.
“Not on the manifest,” I say.
“It should be,” the human insists.
“It’s not.”
“It’s essential.”
“So is everything else you’re asking me to cut,” I reply.
The Urr’ki leans in, closer than the others, pointing at the container with a sharp, decisive motion.
“It increases survival probability.”
“So does not collapsing a load halfway through the dunes,” I counter without looking up.
Another voice cuts in from behind me. A Zmaj this time, closer than before.
“The risk can be mitigated.”
“Not with what we have,” I say.
The space tightens. Not dramatically. Not all at once. But enough.
Bodies shift closer. Angles change. Everyone trying to be heard. To be seen. To make their point matter more than the others.
I feel it before I fully register it. The narrowing. The lack of space between them. Between me. I keep my tone even.
“Step back,” I say without raising my voice.
No one moves. Of course they don’t. They’re not thinking about space. They’re thinking about being right.
A clawing sense of claustrophobia rises, making my skin crawl. I adjust my grip on the clipboard, turning slightly so I can see all of them without having to shift position.
