Chapter 22: Gabbro

The wind screams in Gabbro's ears. They shove their way through the tangled forest as overhead, slivers of sky amidst the roiling canopy flash a sick yellow-green. Gabbro pants, kicks away the thorny brush creeping across their path, and forges onward. They can't remember what it is they're looking for, but they know they're running out of time.

"-abbro, help m-"

"Chert?" Gabbro's steps falter. It was Chert, it had to be. They cast around for the source of the sound. "Chert! Where are you? Talk to me!" Deafening static rises to drown out the wind.

Then it falls away, and a painfully familiar voice says, "Where ya goin', Gab?"

"...Sphale?" Gabbro's voice comes out reedy, breath catching in their lungs. They spin around, the wind whipping branches at their face. Amid the trees, half-hidden in the shadows, a familiar shape shrinks away as if the weight of Gabbro's gaze is too much.
Pure instinct drives Gabro after them. "No! No, no no - come back!" They thrash their way into the undergrowth, but Sphale's pale form melts into the darkness. "Sphale, it's me!"

"Where - can't find…" Sphale's voice fades into the roar of the wind. The sky burns, electric bright as lightning flares, lighting up the woods in stark detail. Gabbro spots a movement up ahead through the trees and blindly plunges onward, in the same direction. "-I can't-" Sphale's voice continues to reach them in fits and bursts, but the forest is determined to keep them in place, thorns wrapping around their ankles, raking sharply across their legs, their chest, their cheek-

Then they blink, and find themself in the glade on Gloam Heart, lit by that pulsing, sweet golden light. The wind falls still, the grasping plants slithering away. And, on the edge of the chasm with their back to Gabbro, is Sphale. Their sibling.

Gabbro takes an unsteady step forward and winces with pain as something small and hard rolls beneath their foot. An acorn, crushed by their own clumsiness. Bluish blood oozes from its pulped remains. The mossy ground is littered with the things. There's no way to get to Sphale without stomping on them.

"I can't see you, Gabbro," Sphale whimpers. They teeter at the edge of that star-bright pit. "Why can't I see you?"

"I'm here, Sphale. Turn around."

"I can't."

"You can." Frustration bubbles up in Gabbro's chest. After all this time, and now this? They reach across the space between the two of them, so frustratingly close and yet so far. "Just give me your hand!"

Sphale turns, and Gabbro wishes they hadn't; they let out a gasped curse and recoil in horror. Because it's not Sphale, but Feldspar, and where their eyes should be is a mass of pale, fleshy roots, writhing and twisting, reaching across the space toward them. In a heartbeat the roots are upon them, smashing into their chest with enough force to knock them off their feet, and now the chasm isn't in front of them but right behind them, and they're falling, falling into the burning golden blaze at the planet's core-

·◊◊◊·

-Gabbro can't breathe.

They gasp and twitch helplessly against the weight pressing down on them, and for an awful second they're convinced they never made it off Gloam Heart, that their body still lies deep within the forest with the others slumbering beside them. Then the last vestiges of the nightmare fall away - blazes, how long has it been since Sphale haunted their dreams? - and they can move again, the weight on their chest lifting. Well, mostly. As they sit up, groaning, they can feel their lungs struggling to take in enough air. Their escape from the Gloamer ship and Chert's rescue took more out of them than they'd ever admit.

The cabin is pitch-black and quiet, save for the idle blinking of Traveler-4's navigation panel. The sad pile of blankets on the floor beside Gabbro's cot tells them Chert must have gotten up already. Even that is enough to make goose pimples break out on Gabbro's skin, as the image of Chert's suited form falling away into the void rises unbidden from their memory.

Stop that. Gabbro slaps their cheeks lightly as if they can knock the thought right out of their own head. Chert is on the Traveler somewhere. They're safe. There's no point in lingering on the what-ifs; if they had run out of jetpack fuel before they could reach Chert, if they hadn't reached them in time, if Riebeck hadn't nailed their intercept…

Ugh, no. Deep breaths. In and out, like they always do. It would help more if breathing deeply didn't feel as if somebody was jabbing pins into their lungs.

Well, the odds of getting back to sleep any time soon are zero, so they may as well get up and make themself useful. There are plenty of tasks on the maintenance roster, and with Feldspar out of action it won't be long before the list becomes overwhelming. Stiffly, Gabbro hauls themself out of their cot and pads over to the hatch, opening it carefully to avoid waking anyone else. No need, it turns out. Light spills from Traveler-1's hatch to fill the docking bay, along with hushed voices.

"-utterly bonkers… yet brilliant, in a way," Chert says breathlessly, and relief - stupid, stars-blessed relief - floods through Gabbro's chest. It feels better to know Chert is near, safe and whole and within reach. "They must have needed a way to shield their electronics and themselves from- oh!" They trail off, their excited pacing interrupted as Gabbro reaches the open hatch. "Gabbro, I'm sorry. Did we wake you?"

"Heh, no. I uh, couldn't sleep."

Riebeck looks up from the ship's computer and makes a sympathetic noise. "Me either. I guess we're all a bit out of sorts."

"What are you two doing, anyway? It's the middle of the- well, you know what I mean."

"I had a sudden thought about that sample you took from the Gloamer ship. And I was sort of right!" Despite Chert's bright tone, their eyes are rimmed with red, the creases at corners of their mouth a little deeper than usual. They're wearing the strain of the past few cycles. Not that Gabbro can talk; they feel as if they've aged a decade since the start of the mission. They want to take them by the shoulders, ask them how they're feeling. But they've already launched into an explanation, and it takes all of Gabbro's sleep-deprived concentration to catch up.
"The plating from the Gloamers' ship, it's made of marble! Can you believe it? I think it must be for radiation shielding, though why they would choose to make their hull and suits black is beyond me. It's quite the radiation magnet." Chert catches themself and shakes their head. "Oh dear, I'm using figures of speech. I must be tired."

Gabbro can't help but smile. "Must be."

Riebeck raises a shy hand. "Um, actually, I have an idea about that. The black coating, I mean. We'd need to inspect an intact suit to be sure, but I think the surface area is for absorbing solar radiation to use as a power source."

Chert and Gabbro exchange a look. "Okay, yeah," Gabbro says slowly. "That… actually makes sense. I'm still kinda caught up on the whole marble thing, though. The sheer amount of power they would have needed to get something that heavy off the ground…"

"They would have needed highly efficient fuel, that's for sure. But the Gloamers were certainly clever enough to produce such a thing."

"Not that clever," Feldspar mutters over the Traveller's signalscope, "given they managed to poison an entire underground lake."

"Feldspar, you're awake too?"

Feldspar wheezes, a sound equally likely to be a sigh or a laugh, given the condition they're in. "Kind of hard not to be, with you three getting all academic in there. Does nobody around here know how to close a hatch?"

"Sorry, Feldspar. It's just that none of us can sleep." Riebeck says, as the three of them exchange sheepish looks. Then they brighten up a little, adding, "Say, can we come and bunk with you?"

"What? No!"

"You won't even know we're here. We'll sleep on the floor. It'll be like…" Riebeck trails off, biting their lip. But Gabbro understands exactly what they're saying. Like back on Timber Hearth, camping under the stars. Like we're not stranded in the depths of unfamiliar space.

There's a long pause, and Gabbro half-expects to hear the click of the signalscope being turned off at any moment. But then Feldspar grumbles something under their breath and says, "Ugh, fine. Just… keep it down, already. No more science talk for at least another five hours."

It's a nice gesture, not that Feldspar would appreciate anyone pointing that out. Even so, Gabbro feels themself hesitate at the hatch to Traveler-2. The memory of their nightmare lingers. Which is ridiculous - it was a stupid dream, Gabbro knows this. The accumulated stress of a frankly terrible situation taking its toll. No need to start dragging up the past again. They give themself a shake and follow the others into the dimmed cabin, where Feldspar lies on their cot with their arm slung across their eyes, grumbling wordlessly at the intrusion.

Honestly, camping on Traveler-2's cabin floor is about as comfortable as camping in the Docking Hub had been - which is to say, not at all. Gabbro kind of regrets not getting on with working on the maintenance tasks like they'd planned. But then Chert's hand finds theirs in the dark, and gives it a squeeze, and suddenly Gabbro doesn't want to let go. So they lie and watch the stars slowly rotate outside the viewport, listening to the others' breathing slowly even out around them, a simple reassurance that they're still there. And, for now, that's enough.

·◊◊◊·

Rimy Shade and Gloam Heart had both lured the Hearthians in with their deceptive beauty, and the grandeur of Bulwark had been enough to steal their breath away, even at a distance. But the new planet is a plain, rocky expanse of… well, at first glance, nothing. An unbecoming shade of reddish grey, it hardly resembles a place anyone would want to settle, especially a species from such an alluring place as Gloam Heart. Then again, Gabbro reflects, perhaps the Gloamers had specifically sought out a planet with no risk of being set upon by killer plants.

The astronauts - except Feldspar, who has once again claimed the pilot seat with their injured ankles propped up on the console - stand in a loose semicircle, gazing out the viewport until eventually, Gabbro can't stand to wait anymore.

"Did the Gloamers happen to leave us any clues as to where to start looking?" they enquire.

The blueprints made it look as if they were building near the north pole." Riebeck frowns and rubs their cheek thoughtfully. "But that's only my interpretation; we can't read their language, so there's a lot of guesswork involved."

"Educated guesswork," Chert adds fairly. "But yes, we can only hope that their plans actually made it off the page - er, sphere. We should send down a Little Scout and see what we can spot from low orbit."

Easier said than done; as the new planet opens up beneath Chert's expertly piloted Little Scout, it fills the screen with a vast expanse of rock and dust, every landmark and variation in its surface blurring together in a bleak, featureless mass. If it weren't for the shadows, it would be impossible to discern anything at all.

As the minutes trickle by, Chert's annoyance grows. "Everything is the same colour! How am I supposed to navigate like this?" As the Scout dips lower, dropping out of orbit and into the thin atmosphere, warnings immediately start popping up on the screen. "Oh, wonderful. The atmosphere is toxic, not to mention mildly corrosive. How very inviting."

Feldspar swivels to and fro in the pilot's seat. "What a lovely spot the Gloamers picked," they remark drily.

Closer to the surface, the Little Scout does manage to pick up some actual details. The terrain is uneven, a patchwork of rocky plateaus broken up with narrow, shallow valleys. Some are angled strangely off-kilter, creating the shadows that the astronauts had seen from orbit. And, as before, everything shows up the same muddy shade of grey in the Little Scout's camera. It's as if someone took a giant bucket of paint and dumped it over the landscape.

Then, as the Little Scout nears the pole, "There," says Riebeck urgently, jabbing a finger at the screen. "On the horizon. What is that?" Chert adjusts the Little Scout's course, and as it approaches for landing, what they're looking at becomes clear.

At first glance, it could be an impact crater - but no, it's too uniformly shaped, with none of the tell-tale signs a meteorite would have left. The hole gapes, a vast wound in the planet's hide. Erupting from the middle of it is a tower, braced on every side by massive struts. Unlike the layered confection that was the building on Gloam Heart, this structure is utilitarian, impressive in its scale, but little else. It's clearly seen better days; it lists drunkenly off-centre, the struts on one side buckled. Parts have broken off entirely, lying shattered at the bottom of the crater, a cruel parody of the Hearthian's home village nestled within its crater. Judging by the look on Chert and Riebeck's faces, this is indeed the project they'd found amongst the Gloamer's trove of information.

And it's in ruins.

Some part of Gabbro had been prepared for this. They aren't exactly being secretive about their presence. If off-worlders ever started flying probes into Timber Hearth's atmosphere, the Hearthians would definitely have responded, if only to sate their own curiosity. They find it hard to believe the Gloamers wouldn't have made themselves apparent already, if they were here. But it's still a kick in the gut. They can't imagine what Riebeck must be feeling.

Feldspar, ever the epitome of tact, gives a rattling sigh and lets their head fall back against their headrest. "Welp, we knew it was a long shot."

"Sorry, buddy," Gabbro says, giving Riebeck's shoulder a conciliatory squeeze. "I know you were hoping to make contact."

"They were here," says Riebeck softly. They don't seem to have heard anything the others have said. "They were here, but now… Did we - did I make a mistake? Was this really what they wanted us to find?" They look to Chert, who can only shrug helplessly.

"I don't know, Riebeck. Stars, we're floundering around with no idea what we're doing. It's not as if we have many choices open to us."

And ain't that the painful truth? Gabbro's hearts sink. The building on the screen is as still and lifeless as the dead Gloamers they'd found alongside the broken ships. Riebeck had pinned all their hopes on the idea of finding them here, and no one ever stopped to consider what they'd do if they were wrong.

"I want to land," says Riebeck suddenly, fiercely. "Either we're missing something, or there's a reason those spheres led us here. And I have to see it for myself. Even if I'm wrong, even if there's nothing left, even if the Gloamers are dead, whatever's left, I…" they turn to the others, mouth set in a determined line. "I need to know."

And Gabbro gets it. After all these cycles, and covering all this distance, and raising everyone's hopes, to turn back now feels like the ultimate betrayal. "What do you think, Feldspar?" they ask softly. "You're in charge."

At first, it's as if Feldspar is lost in their own world, sitting with their arms behind their head, chewing on their already mangled lip. Gabbro says their name again, and when that nets them no answer, prods their shoulder, earning them a glare.

"I'm thinking," Feldspar says testily. Then, to Chert, "How long until the planet's orbit brings it too close to the sun?" The sun. Gabbro feels a little jolt at that. When did they stop thinking of Lumen 282-b as an alien star?

"A little over two cycles," Chert answers promptly. "If we linger any longer than that, we risk damaging the Traveler. Doubly so for any equipment we take planetside, with the corrosive atmosphere."

"Uh huh." Feldspar sighs, and meets Riebeck's eyes. "I'm not taking any more unnecessary risks. If we do this, we do it right. We spend a cycle scouting out the surface. We take readings. No surprises, no buildings curling up or imploding or whatever the blazes stupid mechanisms the Gloamers put in place."

"That leaves us with a single cycle planetside!" Riebeck protests. "What if we don't find the Gloamers in that time? What if we do? We can't just make contact and then leave!"

"Feldspar's right, though," Chert says. "Every time something terrible has happened, it's because we rushed into a situation we didn't fully understand, or we didn't plan ahead."

"Hey," says Gabbro, feeling as though they should add something, at least to cushion the blow. "A cycle isn't much, but it's better than nothing, right?"

If it were anyone else, they might have stood and argued their case. But Riebeck merely swallows hard and nods, dipping their head to hide their glassy eyes. They mumble something about checking through the spheres for anything they might have missed, and a moment later they're gone, ducking through the hatch to the docking hub.

"That was very responsible of you," says Chert, in the silence that follows, and Gabbro can tell they're trying and failing not to sound surprised.

"Ugh, don't." Feldspar makes a face and sinks down further into the pilot's seat, until they're practically horizontal. "I don't feel responsible, I feel like a jerk. But we've been chasing dead aliens for cycles, and all it's brought us is grief."

Chert's lips tighten. "Yes, well. It's the only plan we've got."

Feldspar hauls themself upright, wincing as their weight settles on their injured ankles. Without Riebeck to help them hobble around, they settle for bracing their hands on the pilot's seat. "Well then, you'd better get to work."

·◊◊◊·

And, once again, Gabbro feels superfluous. They leave Chert to do their scouting on Traveler-1, and busy themself by thoroughly checking over their own ship. There are more pressing maintenance tasks, but they'd rather not intrude on Riebeck, and, well… if Chert is going to be sleeping in Traveler-4's cabin for the foreseeable future, they'd rather it didn't resemble Slate's workshop. They take the time to tidy, stowing the loose items they've left scattered around.

Feldspar's suit still hangs on the wall of the bulkhead. Gabbro hasn't felt much like continuing the repair job, not after the news about Timber Hearth. But they can't leave it here forever, and the longer they look at its half-finished state, the more it bugs them. The main problem is finding an appropriate material to seal the stitching. It's not as if the suit will ever be truly airtight again, not with the helmet so badly cracked. But there are other things to worry about other than losing air - stitches can catch on things, or re-tear under stress.

"Resin would probably do it," says a shy voice from behind them.

Gabbro gives Chert a crooked smile over their shoulder. "Not many Hearthoaks around here, sadly."

"Perhaps not, but on Gloam Heart…" Chert trails off with a shiver. "The only problem is tapping trees that might try to tap you back."

"I'll figure something out. Just gotta wait for inspiration to strike." Gabbro rubs their neck awkwardly. "Er, what brings you here, anyway? I thought you were busy scouting." Oh, that's nice, they silently berate themself. It's not as if Chert has been sharing your space or anything.

"Feldspar was asking if you have any painkillers stashed away in here."

"Seriously? We should have more than enough, even with Feldspar sucking them down as if they're Mintroot candies."

"That's what I thought, but I checked, and the supply's going down rather quickly. Are your lungs still troubling you?"

More out of habit than anything else, Gabbro takes an experimental breath. Their chest feels tight, but that crushing weight only seems to affect them when they try to sleep. "Eh, they're getting better, I think. I haven't been taking anything for the pain, though. Didn't want to accidentally overwork myself, ya know?"

Chert frowns to themself. "Well, if it's not you, and it's not me, that only leaves…"

"Oh, stars," Gabbro says, as everything clicks into place. "Riebeck. They were complaining of headaches, earlier, but with everything that's been going on, I completely forgot."

"Headaches?" Chert's gaze sharpens. "Since when?"

"Uh, since Gloam Heart, I think." Wow, it really seems like aeons since they set foot on that deceptively beautiful planet, what with everything that has happened since. Have they really been so caught up in their own problems that they've completely ignored whatever is going on with Riebeck? Chert is staring past them, at a random spot on the bulkhead, their lips moving silently as if they're doing some mental calculation. Then they abruptly turn and hurry from the cabin, feet pattering on the metal floor, and what choice does Gabbro have but to follow?

·◊◊◊·

"Why didn't you tell me you've been having headaches?" Chert demands, bursting through into Traveler-3's cabin. Riebeck had left the hatch open, a choice they seem to be regretting as Chert bears down on them. They hesitate, their gaze flicking to Gabbro and back again.

"I… didn't think it was worth mentioning," they say lightly, though there's no mistaking the guilty look that ghosts across their face.

Chert folds their arms, and Gabbro recognises that look; it's a sure sign there's a lecture coming. At least for once it's not aimed at them. "Honestly, Riebeck. Don't you think having a headache for weeks on end is a little troubling?"

"I didn't want to worry you. You have enough on your hands already."

"I'm worried now!" cries Chert incredulously, throwing their hands up. "Will you at least let me take a look at you?"

Riebeck recoils sharply. "No!" they say quickly. Too quickly. "I mean, there's really no need. I'm fine."

"I'm with Chert on this one," Gabbro says gently. "We're meant to be helping one another. We can't do that if you don't talk to us."

"Hey, what in blazes is going on in here?" Feldspar's voice cuts through the rising tension. They're leaning heavily against the bulkhead, teeth gritted in pain. They look as if they've arrived in a hurry, their breathing laboured. "Why is Chert yelling?"

"I wasn't yelling," Chert snaps. "I'm trying to understand why Riebeck wouldn't tell us they're unwell."

"I'm not unwell!" Riebeck protests. "People get headaches sometimes. That's why Hornfels supplied us with Bitterwillow pellets!"

Feldspar's brow furrows. "Wait, are you the one using the painkillers? Are you still taking them for your stomach?"

"Your stomach?" Chert echoes in dismay. "Riebeck!"

Riebeck shrinks in on themself. They look ready to burst into tears.

"I think," Gabbro says evenly, "you should tell us what's going on with you. Maybe we can help."

Riebeck sighs, resigned. "I- oh, all right. It started with the headaches. At first I figured it was the stress and anxiety getting to me. Ever since we found out about-" their voice hitches "-our star, it's gotten worse. Stomach pains, and nausea too."

"Like when we were on the spacewalk?" Chert asks, and Riebeck nods, colour darkening their cheeks. Gabbro suppresses the urge to shake them; all they had to do was give the word, and Gabbro would have aborted the whole thing, returned them to the Traveler safe and sound before Chert was ever in danger. Heck, in an ideal world, Riebeck's symptoms would have sent the whole crew back to Timber Hearth. They might have even made it there before… they shake those darkening thoughts away. No point in dwelling on what could have been.

Riebeck continues, "but now I'm… sore all the time, in my joints. And tired, no matter how much I try to rest. I'm sorry about using so many painkillers. I can stop taking them. You need them more than I do, Feldspar."

"Seriously?" Feldspar growls and pushes away from the bulkhead. "This isn't about the painkillers. Forget the painkillers! This is about you hiding stuff from us! When exactly were you going to tell us about this? Or were you going to pretend everything was fine, right up until it endangers the mission? All because of your obsession with the Gloamers!"

"That's rather unfair," Chert cuts in crossly. "You didn't seem so concerned about hiding things from the crew when it was you taking off to Little Shade at crazy hours of the cycle, searching for who-knows-what."

Feldspar bristles. "Yeah, well. Maybe that's true. But I'll tell you what I found down there; nothing. Not a stars-damned thing. Just like how we're never gonna find anything on this new planet."

Oh, sweet Hearth. This has already gotten out of hand. All too familiar with Feldspar's wildfire temper, Gabbro should have stepped in sooner, snuffed out the spark before it could catch. "Feldspar," they say sharply, laying a warning hand on their shoulder. "That's enough, now." But Feldspar shakes them off, jabbing a finger in Riebeck's direction.

"It's time the two of you opened your eyes already," they barrel onward. "There's NO-ONE out there! Don't you get it? We. Are. It. Or are you so stuck in denial that you'll go chasing ghosts across the solar system for the rest of your short lives? No," they insist, when a tearful Riebeck opens their mouth to argue. "I don't know what's wrong with you, but it's pretty clear you're in no condition to go planetside. I'm calling off the mission."

"Hey, wait, you can't just call off the mission," Chert says feebly, but Feldspar is already turning away, the furious set of their jaw enough to ward off any further protests.

"Forget it. I'm not doing this anymore, understand? We're done."

Their words hang in the air long after they're gone, as if they're etched into the very bulkhead itself. Riebeck slumps in their pilot's seat and buries their face in their hands. Gabbro and Chert hover restlessly nearby, neither knowing what to do.

I'll talk to Feldspar, Gabbro wants to say. They'll come around. But that would be a lie, and there's already been enough of that, hasn't there? It would be wrong to pretend that it wouldn't be madness to send Riebeck on such a dangerous exploration mission. Blazes, they probably shouldn't even be in the same cabin, in case whatever is wrong with them is contagious. But, the same way they left it too late to intervene, it's far too late to bring up isolation protocol now.

No. As Gabbro has learned so many times in recent cycles, there are some things that words cannot fix.

·◊◊◊·

Gabbro is shaken awake by the dull clank-clank-clank of the Traveler's coupling mechanism. They lie still, blinking up at the ceiling as their brain struggles to catch up. It's the middle of the night cycle, so everyone should be resting.

Then the tidal wave of realisation hits them. They throw themself from their cot and run for the hatch, but it's shut up tight. Of course it is, Slate designed the thing to close automatically when anyone initiates a docking maneuver. Or an un-docking maneuver. They yank the lever to open it, but it's no use, the thing's designed to stop anyone from opening it and accidentally depressurizing their ship. Senselessly, they throw their shoulder against it anyway.

"Riebeck!" they holler. "You big dumb idiot, come back!" Yelling is pointless - their signalscope lies uselessly at the other end of the cabin. They throw themself against the hatch again, more out of frustration than because it will do any good.

A gentle hand lands on their arm. "Stop, Gabbro. You're going to hurt yourself."

In their panic, they'd forgotten Chert was sleeping on their cabin floor. Gabbro lets them pull them away and sags against the bulkhead. "I don't believe it. Of all the irresponsible… why? Why would they do this?"

On the other side of the cabin, Feldspar's tinny voice spills through the signalscope receiver. "Riebeck, answer your stars-damned signalscope!" Maybe it's the force behind their words, or maybe there's no point in staying silent now that everyone is awake. Either way, Riebeck answers.

"I'm sorry, everyone. But I have to do this. Please don't come after me." Feldspar curses loudly as Chert presses their hands to their mouth in horror. On the signalscope, Riebeck continues, "It's not fair to put you all in danger. I shouldn't have kept secrets from you. That was wrong of me." They trail off, choking up, and Gabbro can feel their throat doing the same. "But if there's any chance we're not alone out here, I have to take it."

"Oh, Gabbro, what do we do?" Chert whispers. Gabbro should get up, make a run for the signalscope, and try to talk Riebeck out of this insanity. But their limbs are dead weight, rooting them to the spot.

"Riebeck, as your mission lead, I'm telling you to stop, right now," Feldspar orders. It's completely the wrong approach, and Feldspar must sense it too, because they quickly change tactics. "C'mon, buddy," they try. "You're smarter than this. We don't know what's down there."

"I've made up my mind," Riebeck says firmly. "I don't want this to be goodbye. But I want to make things right. So…. I'll see you all soon. I hope." There's a burst of static, and the muffled roar of Traveler-1's engines cuts out as they switch off their transmitter, leaving Feldspar futilely yelling after them until their already hoarse voice turns ragged.

"We have to do something," Chert says, pacing up and down in the hollow quiet that follows. "That whole planet is a deathtrap! And I haven't finished scouting the surface yet!" Their steps falter as the docking hub grinds into motion again. "Oh no, what's Feldspar up to?"

Gabbro's gaze falls upon Feldspar's suit, hanging half-finished from the bulkhead, and a sinking feeling opens up in the pit of their stomach.

"I don't know," they say darkly. "But it can't be anything good."