The air had weight on Station V-9, dense with the scent of engineered algae. Dr. Rhea Cadence, a biomechanical linguist, was the only human left—her research subjects, the sentient spores, had stopped communicating.
She tapped the sequencer interface. “Please respond.” The bio-lights only pulsed erratically. The spores’ transmissions had shaped patterns before, an intelligence she was just beginning to decipher. But now, silence.
Rhea checked atmospheric fluctuations. Nothing. Then, a fine dust curled from the vents. The spores weren’t ignoring her. They were dying.
She hesitated. If she flooded the station with stabilizing compounds, she’d have to breathe the altered air, risking neural overload. But without intervention, they would perish.
She sighed, releasing the compounds. Moments later, a gentle hum filled her mind—gratitude.
As her vision flickered, she smiled. Connection had a cost. But isolation? That was worse.
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