You keep the nav page up while the bay temperature does its quiet crime. KILO throttles. The state vector freezes mid-digit. A burn solution appears with a confidence bar that is, frankly, a comedian.

“Do not trust that,” Jax says. “Fever math.”

Mira’s hand is on radiator enable, then on engine arm, then she takes both hands off and looks at you. “Open the doors and we still have a brick. Keep going and the brick writes a burn with a fever. In vacuum the heat has nowhere to hide but into the chips.”

The oval on the screen stutters, jumps, and draws a periapsis that is either “fine” or “mountain height,” depending on which frame you liked. Okonkwo, not in the room, still somehow in the room: “Heat is not a subplot.”

A faint hot-dust smell thickens. The array current is fine. Power was never this particular problem.