The shift happens unevenly, movement breaking into smaller units instead of a continuous push, and that fragmentation carries through every step as we pull back through corridors that feel tighter on the way out than they did on the way in. The heat fades gradually as we near the exterior, replaced by thinner air that feels colder against my skin, sharper in my lungs, and the sudden openness outside strips away the echo of the interior, leaving only the distant hum of our ship waiting above.
“Two down,” a voice reports.
“Three injured.”
“Cargo’s light,” another adds.
The words stack in sequence, each one grounding the cost in something measurable as the cold air settles across exposed surfaces and the metallic taste of the structure gives way to something cleaner but no less heavy.
“They knew,” Vihl says beside me, his voice carrying clearer in the open space.
“Yes,” I reply.
“And we walked right into it.”
I don’t answer, because the structure behind us still stands in all the places that mattered, quiet and intact in a way that makes the outcome undeniable.
The transition back into the ship is immediate and physical, the ramp sealing behind us with a low mechanical hum as warmer air closes in, carrying the scent of metal, energy discharge, and something faintly burnt that hasn’t fully cleared. The vibration underfoot shifts from unstable ground to controlled systems, steady and familiar, but the atmosphere inside feels denser, like the aftermath has weight that hasn’t dispersed.
Crew members move past us with less noise than before, voices lowered, movements tighter, the usual rhythm disrupted just enough to register.
Vihl leans back against the bulkhead, arms crossing as he watches me instead of the displays. “You felt that shift,” he says.
I keep my gaze forward, watching the faint reflection of movement across the console surface as the ship stabilizes. “Yes.”
“That wasn’t random resistance,” he says.
“No.”
“That was structure.”
I glance at him briefly, acknowledging it before returning my focus forward as the ship’s systems hum steadily beneath us.
“Say it,” he adds.
“They anticipated us,” I reply.
He nods slowly, pushing off the wall as we move deeper into the ship, the sound of our steps blending with the low mechanical rhythm around us. “That’s not new,” he says.
“No,” I agree. “But how they did it is.”
The forward display brightens slightly as the base begins to resolve in the distance, its surface catching light in uneven reflections as we descend toward it.
“We’ve been running the same pattern too long,” he says.
“It’s worked,” I reply.
“It worked,” he corrects.
I don’t answer immediately, because the distinction sits heavier now than it did before.
“You’re thinking about what she said,” he says.
I shift my stance slightly, letting my hands rest against the edge of the console as the ship adjusts its descent. “Am I.”
“Yeah,” he replies. “You are.”
“She said we were predictable,” he continues.
