Rescue ship "Skif", under Captain Manuel. Some minutes after Tala's death.
The hull of Skif shudders almost imperceptibly.
Gentle vibrations pass through the decks—like aftershocks of grief.
The metal groans softly, as if the ship itself is mourning.
And every crew member's step sounds too loud—like gunshots in a church.
Maria enters the cabin where Tala had been just moments before.
Behind her, the crew stands in a silent line, solemn, rigid.
The air hangs thick—
with smoke, with tension, with unspoken dread.
Every motion Maria makes feels slow, deliberate, like she's trying to reconstruct the crime from scent alone.
Ash.
Wreckage.
Blackened ruin where Tala once sat.
The smell—burnt metal.
Death.
Annihilation.
And on the floor, a faint outline of grey—
the last trace of an android's presence.
"The grenade went off right here," Maria says, staring at the scorched mark that's still faintly warm.
Her voice is steady, but fury and grief throb beneath it like an exposed nerve.
Beside her—
a metal case, somehow intact.
Unremarkable on the outside,
but it might hold everything—
or destroy it all.
"What is this equipment?" she asks without turning.
The question lands flat, cold. A test of truth under fire.
"Specialized kit for decoding black boxes," replies Jamal.
His voice is the sound of a rifle bolt: hard, mechanical, unhesitating.
"She didn't make it."
Maria notices the black box itself, near the case.
Small. Heavy.
Like the heart of the Aspida station.
Or its curse.
"This is it?" Her voice sharpens.
"Yes."
"Hand it over."
But she doesn't reach out.
Her fingers clutch the edge of the table.
Suspicion coils in her chest.
Why Jamal? Why is he so certain?
He knew she was working with it. Why didn't he warn anyone? Why so calm?
"Why?" Her tone is stripped of politeness.
A direct challenge.
"To finish what she started."
Jamal shrugs—casual, like they're discussing weather.
He isn't asking.
He's claiming.
Captain Manuel enters.
His footsteps are heavy, deliberate.
"Anything?" he asks.
Maria turns toward him.
She feels the spiral tightening—something unseen, closing in.
"Not yet. But the general insists on taking the box."
"So let him," Manuel replies, puzzled.
"We need to know what killed Tala."
Maria passes him the box.
Its surface is ice-cold—
as if Tala herself is reaching from the void.
This is it. The answer. Or a trap.
"I'm leaning toward an accident," she manages.
But even she doesn't believe it.
"That theory won't hold," Jamal cuts in.
"Without a decryption, we've got nothing. Follow me."
Silence.
They follow.
Their footsteps echo like verdicts down the corridor.
No one speaks.
They all feel it:
This isn't the end.
This is the beginning—
of something worse.
**
In the adjacent cabin, Jamal sets up his equipment.
His movements are fast, surgical—
like he's done this a dozen times before.
The room fills with cold sounds—
metallic clicks, the low hum of circuits, sharp electric snaps.
"Box is open," he says.
Everyone freezes.
"Starting data extraction."
"What's in it?" Vikar's voice slices the silence like a bell.
He doesn't blink, eyes locked on the screen.
Jamal doesn't rush.
He scrolls through data like flipping through someone's confession.
Too slow.
Too careful.
"Here. Look. The explosion on Aspida started in the capacitor sector."
"Why?" Vikar leans forward.
His voice crackles with tension, like air before a storm.
"There's video," Jamal says with a shrug.
"But no explanations. This is all we could retrieve."
Vikar says nothing.
His eyes stay fixed on the screen.
It can't be this simple.
Something's buried. Something unsaid.
The real truth is still out there.
"It's not enough," he finally says, firm, almost wounded.
"We need more. Everything. Every fragment."
"I'll go through every record, every byte," Jamal promises.
"Just give me time."
Silence again.
Only the click of keys.
In those dry, mechanical sounds…
maybe, just maybe—
the truth hides.
Or maybe—
a newer, deeper lie.