The air in the pollen mines of Epsilon-6 shimmered with bioluminescent spores. Sera, a former botanist turned extractor, adjusted her respirator and plunged her gloved hands into the honey-thick atmosphere, gathering the floating motes that powered the colony’s life support.
Lately, the spores had been changing—losing potency. The engineers blamed degradation, but Sera noticed patterns in their glow, almost like language. She traced the shifting light and followed it deeper into the tunnels. At the core, she found it: a vast fungal network, pulsing in rhythmic pulses. It was thinking. Communicating. And dying.
Sera hesitated. Extracting more would mean survival for the colonists—but might silence something ancient and aware. Lowering her tools, she reached out, whispering, hoping it could understand. The colony might suffer, but perhaps, for the first time in eons, something else would live.
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