Page 6 of Nebula Hearts
Tynrax kneels beside the platform, examining the inlay patterns. His markings brighten more, bright enough now that I don’t need my light to see what he’s looking at. The light from his temples and throat illuminates the stone, and for a moment the metal inlays seem to respond. A faint shimmer, like they’re waking up.
“Did you see that?” I ask.
“See what?”
“The metal. It reacted when your markings brightened. Like it was responding to the light.” I lean closer, watching carefully. “Can you do that again?”
He looks at me, and I realize what I’m asking.
Zephyrians control their markings through emotional regulation. Asking him to make them brighter is asking him to deliberately feel something strongly enough to trigger a response. That’s probably invasive. Like asking someone to cry on command.
“Never mind,” I say quickly. “Sorry. That was...”
His markings flare brighter. Deliberate. The violet light intensifies, and the metal inlays definitely respond this time. The shimmer spreads across the surface, patterns lighting up in sequence like a chain reaction.
Then his markings dim back to their previous level, and the shimmer fades.
“Electromagnetic sensitivity,” he says, like he didn’t just do something that probably required significant emotional effort. “The metal responds to certain frequencies.”
“That’s fascinating.” I’m already taking new readings, documenting the response. “This whole facility might be designed to interact with Zephyrian biology. Which means...”
“It was built by my people.” He stands, looking around the chamber with new understanding. “This was a Zephyrian installation. Three thousand years ago, before the Suppression, before we eliminated most of our empathic abilities.”
“That’s...” I want to say “horrifying” but settle for “really sad.”
“It was necessary.” But his voice suggests he’s not entirely convinced. “Or it was believed to be necessary. The distinction matters less now.”
“But there are no records of Zephyrian colonies in this sector.”
“Many records were lost from Pre-Suppression times.” He traces one of the patterns. “That might mean we’re the first people to see this in three thousand years.”
I take readings of the entire chamber while he examines the control panel. The hum I noticed earlier is stronger here. Low frequency, barely audible, but definitely present.
“There’s still energy running through this place,” I report. “Not much, but enough to keep some systems active. How is that even possible?”
“Unknown.” Tynrax is absorbed in studying the interface, fingers tracing patterns but not touching the metal directly. “But if this installation served an important function, redundant power systems would make sense. Something designed to last.”
I start documenting the chamber systematically, moving clockwise along the wall. As I get closer to where Tynrax is examining the control panel, the readings spike. “Oh, that’s interesting. Look at this energy distribution pattern.”
He steps closer to see, and a moment of awareness passes between us, a brief focus on our proximity before we both turn our attention back to the scanner. His shoulder brushes mine.
I clear my throat. “Right. Fascinating. Very. I should...” I gesture vaguely at the rest of the chamber and move away. Professional. This is professional scientific collaboration.
“We should head back,” he says eventually, straightening from his examination. “Document this properly and return with better equipment, another time. If we’re going to understand this facility’s purpose, we’ll need more sophisticated scanning tools. But now, we need to focus on the relay.”
I want to argue. Want to stay and explore deeper. But he’s right. We came here to verify structural stability, not conduct a full archaeological survey. And we still have a relay to repair.
“Okay,” I agree, reluctant but practical. “But we’re coming back, right? This is too important to just ignore.” I pull out my scanner one more time, run a foundation check. The structures beneath us are solid, ancient, stable.
We’re safe to work here.
Before he answers, my datapad beeps. I pull it out. Message from the ship’s automated systems. My smile fades.
“What is it?” He steps closer.
“Power status update from the colony. They’re at fifty-five percent now.” I look up at him. “It’s dropping faster than projected.”
His jaw tightens. “Then we need to work faster.”
