You give the life-support bus the first polite gulp. Alley lights return. Okonkwo’s voice is immediately less handheld and more ceiling. “There you are. Emergency loop was on, but I like fans that are not myths. I swapped the lithium-hydroxide cartridge while you were playing piano on the wall. CO2 is behaving. You did not do that part. Do not make me say crew first twice.”

You say it once, for the sticker. Jax copies the rest of the list onto the sticky note as if writing it will make you obey it.

Batteries are still bruised from the storm. KILO is still a brick. The ship is still a slow tumble. Arrays are still a closet.

Mira: “Command computer next. Not the wings. Wings need a pointing system or they flap like laundry. Not the jets.”

Okonkwo, milder: “I can hear someone wanting to unfold gold blankets because gold looks like hope. Hope is not a sun angle.”